


Turning

by chollarcho



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Disability, Feelings, M/M, boys crying, boys crying because of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chollarcho/pseuds/chollarcho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's time to start moving on, but only if Cain and Keeler can be jerks in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_April 30_

Keeler’s knees hit the restroom floor, and then he was tugging at Cain’s jeans, pulling them open and shoving them down, pulling out his cock, rolling on a condom, and swallowing deep.  Cain groaned, sagging against the stall door, his hips nudging forward instinctively, and Keeler pulled back to suck around the head, lick his way down the shaft, back up again.  Cain couldn’t find a thought in his mind other than that, after all the time he spent on the _Sleipnir_ staring at the lead navigator and idly wondering if he liked to give head, Cain was finally finding out.

Finding out like this, in the cramped restroom of a mediocre bar, where he’d gone to pour a bottle of alcohol down his throat because he couldn’t stop thinking about Ethan.

\--

_“Cain,” someone said behind him, when he’d only imbibed a fraction of what he intended to drink._

_“What,” he said sourly, responding automatically to the task name he hadn’t used in a year and a half, not turning around._

_Then a blond with long hair was pressing against him a little, perching on the stool next to him.  Pretty hot, judging from a sidelong glance.  He looked more closely at the stranger, frowned and squinted, thinking his eyes were deceiving him.  “Keeler?”_

_“What are you having?” Keeler asked._

_Cain gestured to the bartender to bring another glass.  “Vodka.  What’re you doing, slumming with the colonials?”_

_Keeler smiled disdainfully, so fucking superior even as he said, “I live in the neighborhood.”  He turned to take the glass from the bartender, let Cain fill it and take a look at him.  Hair still long and braided, that pale color, paler than Ethan’s, face still pretty and expression still hard, perfect for glaring at all the fighters and navigators who leered at him.  Cain kept looking, decided Keeler looked good out of uniform, slender but not skinny like Ethan, probably had a nice ass, if he would just turn a little and let Cain get a better look..._

_“Hey,” said Keeler, and Cain yanked his gaze up._

_“So what’re you doing here?” he asked quickly, not missing the way Keeler’s smile had changed from contemptuous to amused._

_“Sometimes I come here to meet people,” Keeler said airily, and Cain tried to decide if Keeler meant that in a non-platonic sense._

_“Ever have any luck?”_

_“Not really.”  Keeler glanced at him, drank some, didn’t cough.  Cain was a bit impressed.  “And what are you doing here, Cain?”_

_“Drinking.”  Decided it was none of Keeler’s fucking business why._

_“How’s life without Ethan?”_

_And then Cain remembered that it was Keeler’s business, sort of, because Ethan had left Cain, and Jack had...  “Fucking great, thanks for asking.  Does Jack still fuck you on the side or is he too good for that?”_

_Keeler’s smile was nastier than he’d ever seen it, bitter and toothy.  He emptied his glass, poured more for himself and for Cain.  “I wouldn’t take him back if he begged me.”_

_“Not how Ethan told it when we heard—”_

_“Ethan didn’t know fuck all about it. I’m sure Jack has fed him a load of crap.”  Keeler raised his glass.  “This is strong stuff,” he said, probably referring to the alcohol.  “It’s good.  To the happy couple.”  Cain snorted at the sarcastic tone, but he clinked his glass to Keeler’s, and they drank deeply._

_“You wanna fuck?” Keeler asked a very little later, maybe five minutes of silent drinking later._

_“Fuck yes,” Cain replied._

\--

Cain looked down when Keeler’s hands left his cock, leaving just his mouth—not that that wasn’t enough.  He watched Keeler fumble in his jacket pockets, finding something, a small foil tube.  Then Keeler was squeezing lube onto the fingers of one hand, and he tugged his pants down, one hand disappearing behind him.

Cain moaned, grabbed a handful of Keeler’s hair, pulling it out of the braid, eager to go further after so long without Ethan.

Keeler shook his hand off, already getting up and turning away from Cain to brace himself against the tile wall.  “Fuck, hurry up,” he said breathlessly, licking his lips, his mouth and chin a little shiny with lube from the condom.

Cain pressed him to the wall before he finished speaking, pulling his hair again to bring Keeler’s head back for a messy kiss.  He pressed into Keeler, so tight and hot that it was like Ethan’s first time all over again.

But it wasn’t like that time.  Keeler’s hair filled his vision, his quiet gasps and little moans, calibrated for a public space, in his ears, his steady pushing back onto Cain.  “Harder,” Keeler demanded, and Cain fucked him with even strokes, as hard as he could.  He wrapped an arm around Keeler’s chest, pulled him up against him, and fucked him deeper, so that Keeler rose on the balls of his feet with every thrust, even if Cain only had an inch or two on him, height-wise.  Cain was still stronger, heavier, rougher, like a fighter should be, and he’d make sure Keeler knew it.

Just like Ethan knew it, almost a head shorter, small and wonderful to fuck, skinny limbs, pretty face, noisy moans, so eager for it, so attracted to Cain, so easy to arouse, so uninhibited in his orgasm—

He came hard with his face in Keeler’s pale hair.  He kept thrusting, slower, lazily, while Keeler finished himself and came with a long, low moan into his hand, tightening unbearably around Cain’s cock.  Cain pushed him into the wall and pulled out, Keeler yelping at the sudden movement, at the coolness of the tiles on his hot hands and hips.

They fixed their clothes, Keeler not looking at Cain just then, and Cain trying to not look at Keeler and his not-Ethan-ness, because it had been really hot and really good even without Ethan.

Keeler glanced at him casually as he opened the stall door, and Cain met his eyes, reluctant but wondering now.  It had been a year and a half, so it would probably have been hot and good with anyone.  But Keeler had all Cain’s bitterness and jealousy and loneliness, and it felt good to indulge in those rotten feelings.

And there was more.  Keeler knew Ethan, and had been with Jack.  Surely there was some connection, tucked away in Keeler’s life, to one or both of them, in spite of what Keeler had said.  Some bit of information Cain could use, because he wanted know if Ethan was sure, if he ever thought about Cain and what they had been together.  He wanted to know if there was a chance they could be that again.

And at the very least, Keeler was a good fuck.  Cain didn’t want to over-think things just yet.

“You going somewhere else?” Cain asked as they slipped out of the restroom.  Vanya’s patrons were too inebriated to notice them, but the bartender, Vanya himself that night, gave a wave that was too fucking cheerful and knowing.  Cain scowled back and wished he hadn’t paid their tab with a nice tip right after Keeler had propositioned him.

“Going home,” Keeler said, sounding tired and satisfied.  “Where are you going?” he asked in turn when Cain followed him out the door and down the cracked concrete steps.

“With you.”

“Get lost, Cain.  No time for stray dogs.”  But Keeler was smiling, and not in an entirely horrible way.

He waited a moment to see if Keeler would let him follow (he did) before offering, “Fuck you in the morning too if you let me sleep over, baby.”

Keeler slowed so they were walking together, just enough room on the narrow sidewalk, gave him an amused look, and said, “Deal.”

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and Jack is Encke.

_May 1_

Keeler tossed and turned for part of the night, and if Cain hadn’t been so sleepy and comfortable in Keeler’s bed, he’d have moved to the couch, provided Keeler had one somewhere in the pitch blackness of his apartment.  But instead he threw an arm and a leg over Keeler to hold him down, and slept the night through.

Come morning, Keeler was still out, like a baby, a log, a fucking corpse, not noticing when Cain clambered heavily out of bed to find the toilet and moisten his contact lenses, not noticing when Cain returned, stroking himself lightly with one hand and feeling up Keeler’s ass with the other.  Cain shook his shoulder, Keeler grumbled in his sleep, and Cain decided to poke around the cramped apartment while Keeler woke up.

He looked for signs of Jack, because Jack meant Ethan too, now, and Cain liked fucking torturing himself about it.  He looked for picture frames, finding a photo of Keeler’s basic training cohort on the bedroom dresser, all those navigators looking so young and determined, most of them just eighteen years old.  Ready for anything.  He wondered if Keeler had been ready for what they’d been handed, how long he’d known about the mission, how much higher than Cain’s his clearance had been, and how much more complicity in what had almost happened.  The newsfeeds hadn’t been very clear about all that.

Another photo, framed and nailed up by the window, displayed a blond woman, older, just like Keeler with her steady gaze and slight smile.  His parent, or an aunt.  Cain left the bedroom, glanced around the main room and its little kitchen in the corner.  No other pictures.

He looked harder for Jack.  He found the closet, with its narrow door suffering under so many layers of off-white paint that it didn’t fit the doorframe anymore, stuffed with jackets and towels and cleaning supplies and a box labeled _uniforms_.

He opened the box, and it really was just Alliance-issue clothing.

He searched the tiny kitchen, sifted through the folders of papers in the middle of the table, pulled up the couch cushions—Keeler did have a couch after all, though a short one—and shuffled the books around in the bookcase.  Aerospace engineering, mechanics, histories...Cain put them all back, and surveyed the room again.  A computer sat on a little desk by the curtained window.  He found a stool under the desk and sat to inspect the machine, an old model, older than what they’d used in the Alliance.  At first he didn’t even know how to turn it on, searching its casing for anything resembling an ‘on’ button, finally found it just when Keeler called his task name from the bedroom.

“Yeah,” he called back, hurrying to put the stool away.  There’d be other chances.  Keeler wouldn’t be able to get enough of him.

Keeler grinned up at him from the bed, blankets thrown back, pillows stacked at the head of the bed.  He was long and languorous, relaxed legs parted just a little, hair disheveled from a night out of the braid, his smile nasty again.  “You don’t have anywhere to be?” he asked, sounding more awake than he appeared.

Seemed like a normal question, but Cain suspected there was a trick behind the smile.  “Nah, it’s Sunday.  Spread,” Cain ordered, searching Keeler’s discarded jacket’s pockets until he found a condom and the lube.

“No routine moping because— _unh—_ Ethan left you so long ago?” Keeler said with a gasp as Cain pushed his knees up to his chest.

“Fuck you,” Cain snarled, and he pressed inside roughly, bent his head to Keeler’s ear and bit the lobe.  “Thought about doing this, back in service.  Got nothing to do with Ethan.”  That was a lie, but who cared whether he told Keeler anything truthful.  Keeler never minded a lie in the Alliance.

“Thought about fucking an officer?” Keeler pulled his hair sharply, bringing his face up.

“Fucking _you_ ,” Cain snarled and snapped his hips forward.  “Didn’t know you were such a slut, else I’d’ve fucked you earlier.”

“You’re hardly my first choice,” Keeler scoffed, distaste plain on his face, hand still tight in Cain’s hair, tugging painfully.  So Cain grabbed Keeler’s hair too, pulled his head back and started sucking at the tender skin of his neck.  Keeler could decide how fucking snide he wanted to be after everyone in Colony Five knew Fighter “Hardly First Choice” Cain was fucking him.

Keeler snarled, feral and mean, and threw Cain to the side, his legs still tight around Cain’s torso.  Cain slipped out of him, but Keeler shoved him to his back and sat down on him again, one smooth movement.  Cain let it happen, didn’t really mind how Keeler wanted to fuck; he could’ve flipped them back over, but was surprised by Keeler’s strength.

Keeler moved fast on top of him, rocking back and forth, up and down, his hand working on his own cock.  “Fuck, harder, do it harder,” he groaned, and Cain thrust up, bending his knees and bracing his feet for more leverage.  The bedsprings screamed, giving Keeler more bounce to work with, and if the neighbors complained of the sounds the bed made, at least the springs masked the sounds Keeler made.  Just like Ethan, noisy and uninhibited.

But Ethan wasn’t nasty like Keeler.  Keeler sneered down at him, yanked his hair again and started sucking at Cain’s neck, making a matching bruise where everyone would see.  Cain twisted, pulled at Keeler’s hair, but Keeler’s knees and ass held him securely, and he didn’t seem to mind Cain’s fist in his hair.  Finally he tugged sharp enough to bring Keeler’s head up, to bring that disdainful smile to his mouth and kiss him hard, biting his lips, their teeth clashing.

Keeler came with Cain’s tongue in his mouth, pulled back abruptly to arch his back, shivering and moaning.  Cain rolled them over, pushed Keeler’s legs back up to his chest, and fucked him hard until he came, shaking, his face against Keeler’s neck, buried in wild, pale hair.

—

Keeler pushed him off, shifted over a little to give Cain room to lie beside him.  “If you want to smoke, do it outside,” he said, relaxed and eyes closed.

“Quit,” Cain replied.

“Yeah?  Bet that was Ethan.”  True.

Cain didn’t bother to reply.  Of course Keeler was perceptive and nosy, had to be for the assignments the Alliance had given him.

He focused on his next steps.  He couldn’t stick around for too long, too much shit to take care of still before work at the hangar on Monday, but he wanted to return and get into Keeler’s computer.

He looked at Keeler, casting about for conversation, and he saw Keeler’s chest.  Neat surgical scars down his chest, ridged and tight between his pectorals.  “What’s that?” he asked, trying to sound as nonthreatening, as innocently curious as he could.

Keeler followed his gaze.  “From heart surgery,” he said, “when I was nineteen.”

“Fucking expensive,” said Cain, before he could think.

“It was after I enlisted.  Alliance paid for it,” Keeler told him, settling back into the pillows more comfortably.

Morbidly fascinated, Cain took a closer look, because Keeler didn’t seem to mind.  There were more discolorations under the scars, ripples of skin that healed a little differently, small and faint.  “Some are older.”  

“Oh...from when they put the heart in.  I was eight,” Keeler said.  “Some sort of defect in my old one.  Original one.”

Cain grimaced.  Typical Earth eugenics, pretending to fix everything, but instead fucking up a few million unlucky people spectacularly—the margin of error.  “So much for your lab-grown organs,” he muttered.

Keeler snorted at that.  But all he said was, “Are you going?” and pushed himself up to wander around the bed into the bathroom.

Cain watched him wipe at the lube smeared around his ass before starting to work a hairbrush through the tangles on his head.  Probably would take an hour.  Cain got up.  “Yeah, places to be.  See you again sometime.”  Not a question.  He didn’t want to give Keeler an easy out. 

But the way Keeler turned to look at him, watching him as he pulled on his rumpled clothes, suggested that “out” wasn’t an option anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

_May 8_

He knew where Keeler lived now, but he wasn’t a fucking stalker, so he waited until Keeler showed up a week later at the bar where they had met.  Leather jacket, gray t-shirt, black jeans—Keeler looked like a fighter, and it was fucking hot.  He wondered why the Alliance didn’t recruit more blond fighters if they looked like that.

Then he worried for a moment that maybe Keeler had come to pick up someone else, but worrying was for idiots who didn’t have Cain’s confidence and sex appeal.  He signaled to the bartender to bring another beer, took both of them, and intercepted Keeler on his way to a table.

“You tried this before?  Microbrew.  Some shut-in a couple sectors over brews it,” he said, offering the new bottle.

Keeler took it with barely a glance at Cain, stepping around him and continuing to a table.  “A few times.  It’s good.”  He spoke without turning, so Cain barely caught his words, watching him go with a scowl.  Fucking asshole.

But Keeler sat at an empty table, holding the bottle above the pocked wood dotted with spilled drink and food crumbs.  He watched the kid who worked there part-time hurry to wipe down the tabletop, and then he raised an eyebrow at Cain.  “Are you just going to stand there?”

“No, sir,” Cain said before he caught himself—Keeler’s commanding tone and unamused expression threw him back to the Alliance.  He fought the scowl deepening on his face as he took the seat across from smirking Keeler.

“You look like hot shit tonight,” he said, to distract himself from the scowl and the smirk with sex.

Keeler laughed, sharp and bitter, just what Cain wanted but not what he expected.  “Just came from work.”  Cain stared at him, must have looked confused, because he shook his head and clarified, “I’m an engineer.  Today I began assembly of an engine prototype.”

That made sense.  Navigators tended to be engineers, if they weren’t strictly pilots.  “Shuttles?”

“Airplanes,” Keeler muttered after a pause, eyes fixed on the beer.

Cain averted his eyes and sipped his beer, curious but not sure how to respond without making Keeler so embarrassed that the sex later on would be half-hearted.  Part of him wanted more navigators to fail, end up in a dull job with middling pay, because they seemed so pampered.  Another part of him knew Keeler was too skilled to not work on spacecraft.

“Airplanes,” tried Cain, finally, “that’s new for you.”

Keeler pursed his lips.  “What did you expect?  What do you do?”

Cain bristled at his tone—why the fuck should he know anything about Keeler?  But he replied:  “Mechanic at a hangar.  I get shuttles sometimes, carriers other times, all military craft.  Didn’t know the Alliance had airplanes.”

“They don’t,” Keeler cut in.  “It’s a commercial airline.  What, were you living under a rock when the neuro-engine scandal hit the news?  Too busy fucking Ethan, even while he was getting bored of you and you were too blind to notice?”

More and more nonsense, needlessly turning this into something it wasn’t.  Riling Cain up for no good reason other than Keeler was a bored, underpaid former navigator who’d been dumped because he deserved it.  “Fuck you, Keeler, I heard everything, Ethan broke up with me over it.  He didn’t get _bored_ ,” he snarled, slamming down his beer.  “Don’t fucking play games with me—”

“What _games_ do you think I’m playing?”

“Navigators _always_ play games, all us fighters know it.  Like your fucking game with Cook—you know what, I’m _glad_ Jack called you out on that shit in the end—”

Keeler slammed his bottle down too, started to stand.  Cain grabbed his wrist, and Keeler broke his hold, stepping away and shoving his chair back under the table with a smack of his hand.  The impact jarred the tabletop, the glass bottles dancing for a second, the edge of the chair knocking hard against Cain’s knee.  “You know what?  I’m not in the mood for this.  Try again some other time, when you’re not an asshole.”

“Sit the fuck back down.”

Keeler looked down at him hatefully.  “No.”  Dark, low, and angry.  At himself, too.

Keeler turned and left.  Cain paid for the beers and left too, not even buzzed and too angry to care.

—

_May 10_

Keeler was back, wearing his work clothes again, a mean look on his face, ready for a fight.  But Cain had decided he wanted sex and information more than a fight, so he was resolved to be on his best behavior.  Keeler chose a table for them again, refused a drink when Cain offered, and bought a glass of whiskey for himself.

Cain waited for Keeler to speak and set the tone, confident he could steer them away from a confrontation, sure that Keeler, being a navigator and not a fighter, didn’t really want to spend an evening being aggressive when it wasn’t necessary.

“You miss him?” Keeler asked after a while, leaning forward, forearms crossed on the table.

Cain glanced up from his beer, catching something malicious in Keeler’s tone.  “Yeah,” he said carefully.

“You still jerk off thinking about him?” Keeler sipped his drink, watching Cain closely, predatorily.

“Sometimes,” Cain said, thinking Keeler, being a navigator, would value honesty.

Keeler smiled cruelly.  “What if I cut my hair short like his?  Would that get you hotter, if you had a lookalike proxy to fuck?  You know how fucking pathetic that would be?”

Cain tensed, wanting nothing more than to blacken Keeler’s eye, but he forced himself to relax again, refused to take the bait.  After a moment he shrugged, took a sip of beer.  Anyway, Ethan and Keeler looked nothing alike, though Keeler was hot on his own account.

“You’re no fun,” Keeler grumbled at last, leaning back to slouch in his chair, decidedly unrefined with his cheap whiskey and smudges of oil on his t-shirt and jeans.

“You wanna fuck tonight, baby?” Cain asked, hoping he didn’t sound too hopeful.

“Yeah, but later.”

They sat and drank, not talking, idly watching the game on the newsfeed suspended from the ceiling behind the bar.

“You ever regret taking the job?” Keeler asked.  He’d finished his drink but not gotten another, and he didn’t sound inebriated.

“What?”

“Agreeing to the engine assignment with Cook.  Bering, for you.”  Keeler’s head was turned to the side, eyes on the game.

Cain studied his profile, the set of his jaw tense, just like he’d been when he was lead navigator.  “Seemed like a good idea at the time.  Got a little pay-raise with the promotion in clearance.”

Keeler smiled tightly and turned to face him.  “Me too.”

“Your clearance was a lot higher, though, I bet.”

“The pay was commensurate.  And it was coupled with the promotion to lead navigator, since I needed access to the navigator files.”

Cain shrugged.  “You chose the candidates.”  So of course he needed the access; Cain was just there to fuck the candidates—well, actually, to help them excel in training, and to keep them out of trouble.  No one minded when he fucked them too, though.

Cain glanced around the bar.  The clock over the door showed a quarter to ten, and most of the patrons were leaving.  Never busy on a weeknight, after all, since everyone had work in the hangars or factories in the morning.  Cain wondered when Keeler would want to stop talking, start fucking.  Maybe he could just stay the night with Keeler again, use the shower in the morning, and go straight to the hangar from there.

“I regret it now,” Keeler was saying, so Cain dragged his mind back to the conversation.  “Would’ve gotten some assurance they’d protect me, at least, if things were to go wrong.  Or go public.”

“Baby, the Alliance doesn’t protect anything, except its own smelly, hairy ass.”  He pulled out his wallet to send a signal to Keeler, but then Keeler was opening his.  “I’ll get it,” he muttered.  “Time to get going.”

“Your place?”  Cain was not excited by the prospect of sex with a retrospective and morose Keeler, but if they left now, and Cain fucked him hard enough to put him to sleep, then he might get enough time to check Keeler’s computer before sleeping himself.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

—

Keeler pushed him flat again, the better to climb on top and ease down on his cock with a groan.  Cain started to say, “Fuck, yes,” but Keeler kissed him, swallowed his words, started to fuck him fast.  Keeler was so tight, it felt so good, and Cain started to say so, but Keeler shut him up again, and again, with a kiss or a hand over his mouth, even when Cain snarled and tried to bite him.  “Shut the fuck up,” Keeler snapped finally.  “I’m trying to fuck here.”

“My dick noticed,” Cain muttered under his breath, earning another irate glare.  Then Keeler stopped moving, started to get up, and Cain quickly grabbed for his hips.  “Wait!  I’ll shut up.  C’mon, baby,” he wheedled, and Keeler sat again, looking down at Cain with the least sexy, most pissed-off expression Cain had ever seen on a sexual partner.

So Cain shut up, shut his eyes, focused on Keeler’s tightness and quick movements, so hot and good.  He felt Keeler’s thighs, the muscles moving and burning under his hands, felt his hips and his stomach, everything rocking in an intoxicating rhythm above him.  He heard Keeler’s harsh panting and deep groans, his distracted sighs when he slowed—still thinking about the engine, probably—and renewed gasps when he refocused on fucking.

He came first, too soon and too hard, and Keeler kept moving, even when it became too uncomfortable for Cain’s oversensitive cock.  Kept his eyes closed and thrust harder, determined to exhaust Keeler thoroughly.  Gripped Keeler’s ass and kept thrusting through Keeler’s orgasm, only opened his eyes when Keeler toppled forward, boneless and spent.

Keeler was deep in sleep before five minutes were out.  Cain extricated himself gently from Keeler’s limbs and padded out of the bedroom, easing the door shut behind him.  The hinges creaked, fucking traitors, and Cain held his breath, trying to hear if Keeler had woken.  He could always say he needed to use the bathroom.

Not a sound came from the bedroom.  Cain turned to the darkness of the main room and felt his way to the computer, slowly.

He ran his fingers over the casing, trying to remember exactly where the power button was, and with a little tap the screen glowed, a bright black in the pitch-black room.  The modem hummed and buzzed a little, quietly, but the sounds seemed very loud in the heavy silence, louder than his breathing, louder than the ticking of the clock from the kitchen.  Cain reassured himself that it sounded loud because he sat so close; from a few feet away the computer would be whisper-quiet, much less from through the bedroom door.

The screen turned gray, displaying a password request and a blinking cursor.   _Please insert your key and enter your password._

Cain mouthed a curse.  Really?  Two-factor authentication on this old piece of shit?  Typical navigator, over-thinking everything, making life an ordeal.  Was there something on the machine that Keeler really wanted, or needed, to safeguard?  Or were his security measures a reflex after years in the Alliance of passwords and encryption and reauthentication every hour?

Well, he’d find out.  If Keeler had the resources for a well-secured computer—even one that looked like it belonged in a Colony Ten junkyard—then more likely than not he had something worth securing.

So where was the key?  What did it look like?

He began another inspection of the computer, looking for empty ports, drives, anything where Keeler could insert a key.  There were several identical ports along the side of the machine, and another on the back that was for connection to larger monitors.  He looked around the little desk next, lifting the computer to check underneath, rifling through the row of drawers on the side, feeling under the seat of the chair.

Nothing.  He stared into the room, his eyes adjusting and aided by the glow of the screen.  On the table, Keeler’s ring of keys—actual keys meant for physical locks—reflected the light faintly.  Next to them was Keeler’s shoulder-bag, a beat-up mess of canvas that Keeler had said was full of schematics.  Nothing for work—just something he did on the side.

He glanced at the keys; the computer key wasn’t there.  So he undid the clasps of Keeler’s bag, and felt around the pockets inside.  Pens, scraps of paper, subway passes and bus tickets, empty little bottles for medications, no key.  He began thumbing through the folios, wondering if the key had fallen between the pages.

Then his fingers caught on something small and square and metal.  From the bottom of the bag, well-hidden by the jumble of folios, he removed the little key that fit the computer’s ports.

_Thump_ he heard from the other room, the sound of feet hitting the floor, and _screech_ , the sound of the bedsprings wheezing as Keeler stood up quickly.  Cain threw the key back into the bag, secured the clasps, and rushed to power down the computer.  The lamp flicked on in the bedroom, bright yellow light peeking under the door.  He tiptoed very quickly, comically, to the kitchen, grabbed a cup and turned on the tap to get a little water.  He pretended to sip at it, standing there casually, waiting for Keeler to throw open the door and demand why he wasn’t in bed.  Well, Keeler, he was fucking getting a drink of water so fuck you, couldn’t a man hydrate around here—

But the door didn’t open right away, didn’t open after a couple minutes, so Cain put down the cup and went to open it himself.  He didn’t know what to think when he saw Keeler standing by the bed, staring at the ceiling with an intense, anxious expression, the soft light of the lamp on his nightstand too bright after the darkness of the main room and the glow of the computer screen.

He didn’t know what to think when Keeler just stood there, didn’t acknowledge him or even look at him when the hinges creaked again as he pushed the door all the way open.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing up at the ceiling.  Nothing was there.

Keeler looked at him, the movement of his eyes and head slow and dizzy, out of sync, like he was dreaming.  “I saw a spider on the light.  Big one.”

Cain looked at the floor lamp in the corner and the little lamp on the nightstand.  They showed a little dust on their shades and bases, a few strands of cobweb, nothing more.  “Well, don’t see anything now.”

“Up there,” Keeler said, gesturing to the ceiling, where there was no light fixture at all, just flat plaster painted off-white like the rest of the apartment.

“There’s nothing there,” Cain said after a moment.

Keeler looked up again.  “Guess not.”  And he climbed back into bed, pulled the blankets up past his shoulders, and reached for the lamp.  He paused, turned to Cain.  “Well?”

Cain decided Keeler had dreamed.  He got into bed too, curled around Keeler, and fell asleep while mulling over likely passwords for Keeler’s computer.


	4. Chapter 4

_May 11_

Keeler didn’t mention the dream about the spider in the morning as they got ready to leave for work, and Cain didn’t bother to ask.  Probably Keeler shrieked at the sight of spiders, made a big fuss about getting rid of them.  Some navigators were silly like that, growing up on Earth in expensive, fully-sealed houses, nearly impossible for bugs to get inside.  There were even a few houses of that kind in the wealthy neighborhoods of the first colonies, where the transportation magnates had settled a couple centuries back.

Cain left Keeler’s little apartment in its nondescript, aging building, just like all the other apartment complexes in that neighborhood, and he wondered why Keeler lived there, and not in the wealthier suburbs of the city.  Any why Colony Five, why any colony at all, and not Earth?  He had a mother or an aunt—where did she live?  Or was she even alive?

Not that he cared.  What he wanted from Keeler was more of that hot, angry sex, and any information on Ethan, or on Jack.

He developed a list of potential passwords, at last putting some of his Alliance cryptanalytic training to use, and resolved to try them as soon as he next saw Keeler.

—

_May 13_

At the end of the week, he and Keeler approached the bar at the same time, from opposite directions.  Keeler smiled at him, disdainful, and looped his arm in Cain’s, leading him away.  “I’m not interested in drinking tonight,” he declared, turning them back in the direction from which Cain had come.

“What do you want, baby?”

“You know exactly what I want.”

Cain smirked.  Such a slut.  But he was too, so, great.  “We’re going the wrong way,” he pointed out.

Keeler blinked up at him, eyes wide and innocent.  “But don’t you live in this direction?” he asked, honey-sweet.

“Thought we were going to your place,” said Cain, immediately on guard.

“Oh, but you’ve seen it a couple times.  Or did you need another look around?  I thought you were more efficient than that.”  Now Keeler sounded disappointed, just like Ethan when Cain had done something wrong, but mocking, not genuine like Ethan’s hopes for him.

“What do you mean?” Cain asked, but he knew.  Keeler knew.

“Did you need more time to break into my computer?  Goodness, Bering always said you excelled in password-cracking, but I guess the Alliance doesn’t have very high standards.”  Still that sweet smile and mean eyes, narrowed and sharp.

Cain shook Keeler away from his arm.  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.”

“You think I didn’t notice when I woke up that you _opened_ the door?”  Keeler kept pace with him as he walked fast, staring up at him, still smiling and unfriendly.  “You’re kidding yourself if you think there’s just the password and key.  I’m not an idiot.  There are more authentications.”

Cain stared straight ahead and gritted his teeth, knowing Keeler wouldn’t necessarily need to bluff for something like this.  He began to wonder if he would need some program equally sophisticated to efficiently move past the layers of protection, and if it was worth the effort and cost.  It probably wasn’t.  He’d need to drop the idea altogether, just get Keeler to tell him anything and everything he knew about Jack and Ethan.

“You want to play that game, sweetie?  We can.  Or we can go to your place and fuck instead.”  Keeler’s voice was mocking, triumphant, and his footsteps matched Cain’s in stride and heaviness.  Cain wanted to slap him, backhand him, send him stumbling into the wall of the grocer they were passing, but suspected Keeler would hit him back.

So he led Keeler to his apartment, no need to show him around because it had almost exactly the same floor plan as Keeler’s, and he shoved him against the bedroom door to kiss, feral and brutal.  Keeler responded just as roughly, pulling at Cain’s hair, yanking at his clothes.  Cain got him half-undressed and maneuvered him to the bed, tripping him so that he fell on his back.

Surging up to grab Cain’s shirt and pull it off, Keeler licked his lips, eyes narrowed.  “Not bad,” he said, mocking again, as he ran his fingers down Cain’s chest.  “You do look better when I’ve had something to drink, though.”  His lips twisted.  “Sober, I don’t think you’re even my second-best choice.”

Cain planted a hand on Keeler’s chest and shoved him flat, his palm covering the ridges of scars between his ribs.  He undid Keeler’s jeans, pulled them off him roughly, snarling and mean himself.  “Shut the fuck up and spread your fucking legs.”

Keeler laughed at him, deep peals like Cain had said something truly hilarious, and reached up to pull Cain down.  “I don’t think so, _baby_ , I think it’s your turn.”

“I don’t fucking switch,” Cain growled, once again surprised by Keeler’s strength when he found himself on his back and Keeler working his pants down his legs.  He kicked at Keeler, not to hurt him, just to get him to back off, a warning.

A warning Keeler ignored.  “Oh, that’s not what Ethan said,” he reminded Cain, honey-sweet again, still chuckling as if Cain were telling jokes.  “Said you really enjoyed it this way, bottoming from the bottom, to be specific—”

“I don’t fucking switch _for you_ , you little shit, let go of me!”

And Keeler let him go, got up with a fluid shrug and a toss of hair.  “Fine.  You want to fuck later, let me know.”

Cain watched in disbelief as Keeler, messy braid swaying against his back, left the bedroom for the main room like he fucking owned the place (and like he wasn’t naked and half-hard).  After a moment, he heard noises, like Keeler was poking through Cain’s stuff, so he got up too, went to see what bizarre game they were playing now.

He stood by the little table and idly scratched his rear, looking on with a scowl as Keeler gave a cursory glance through the books in his bookcase, sifted through the detritus gathered on the recliner Cain never used, and then moved on to inspect Cain’s computer.

“The fuck are you doing?” Cain asked, finally, because he couldn’t quite figure it out.  If Keeler wanted information on Ethan and Jack—likely, with how bitter he was, bitter like Cain—but knew Cain was looking for similar information at Keeler’s apartment, why would he assume Cain had any information worth hiding?

“Just wondering what you know—”  Keeler looked at him over his shoulder, sharing a little secretive smile like they were in on something together.  “—About Jack and Ethan,” he finished.

“Thought you didn’t give a shit about them anymore.”  Looked like the bravado from the first night had been just that.

Keeler tossed his bright hair with a snort.  “I said I wouldn’t take Jack back.  But, like you, I am _dying_ to know what they’re up to and why the fuck they haven’t contacted me in over a year.”  Slow and watchful, like he was sizing up a fight, Keeler started across the room towards Cain.  “I like torturing myself about it, don’t you?  Haven’t found anything better to do yet.”

Cain smiled tightly.  “Sure, baby.”

He gripped the ladder-back of one of the chairs to stop himself from taking a step away as Keeler moved into his personal space, so close Keeler had to look up to meet his eyes, so close Cain’s skin pricked and he thought he felt the heat of Keeler’s body.

“We can do this the hard way,” Keeler said, his breath reaching Cain’s lips, “ _you_ trying to break into _my_ computer and vice versa, or we can do this the easy way, since we both want the same thing.”

Cain stared down his nose at him, teeth clenched and jaw tight.  He didn’t want to play any games with Keeler, whether struggling to access the other’s computer or collaborating on Keeler’s suggestion.  But this was the closest he’d come to getting any information on Ethan and Jack other than open sources, because he had been too cowardly for too long.  He didn’t want to pass up the opportunity.

“Let’s talk,” he said, gesturing to the other chair.

Keeler looked at the metal chair with a grimace, and he went back to the bedroom.  Cain followed him, fuming, wishing Keeler would make up his fucking mind whether he wanted to get shit done or just fuck all evening.

But Keeler was busily untangling a blanket from Cain’s bedding, wrapping it around himself and starting back to the table, shoving past Cain who stood stupidly in the bedroom doorway.  “Well?” he called over his shoulder.

Cain grabbed his pants and followed.

—

“Have you heard anything from them?”

Cain scratched his head.  “No, I—Ethan’s got my number but he changed his.”  Ethan had said he and Cain needed to be deliberate about being apart, or something.  So Ethan moved out, and neatly cut Cain out of his life.

“I tried some internet searches,” he continued, “but with Ethan’s dad always campaigning or saying controversial shit, everything about Ethan is always scrubbed so hard there’s nothing substantive left.”  After more than a year with Ethan—those twelve months of their deployment and the short months after, living together in Colony Three—he still hadn’t known enough to find traces of him later.  Ethan had always been right there, next to him in bed or at meals or training and every spare moment of their day, and even the prospect of Ethan’s next deployment without him didn’t faze him.  He always assumed Ethan would return to him.

He never gave a shit about Ethan’s life beyond them as a couple, about Ethan’s family and home, because Ethan was his family and their apartment was their home, so what the fuck did it matter?  He had known enough to make conversation when Ethan wanted to complain about his dad’s political stances or share pictures of his mother and sisters.  But he hadn’t learned more, hadn’t learned enough to predict Ethan’s behavior _outside_ their relationship—to predict his behavior with Jack.

He knew Ethan was back from his second deployment; his father’s campaign machine, gearing up for the primaries, churned out several stories regarding Ethan’s bravery in war and how his father supported policies in favor of veterans’ interests or whatever.  But the articles didn’t breathe a word about where Ethan was or if Jack was still with him.

Ethan had cut him out of his life, and Cain was too much of a coward to be deliberate about finding him again.  Too much of an idiot to keep in contact with people who knew Ethan.  Too busy feeling sorry for himself to keep in contact with his former friends, even Deimos.

And Keeler was the same, it seemed.

“Do you have access to any information at the VA?” Keeler asked him.

Cain shrugged. “They told me his files were locked.”

“Same for everyone who was involved.  Same even for Jack, because he was your superior,” Keeler murmured.  “But the newsfeeds didn’t get your name, nor Ethan’s—I thought maybe they’d let you—”

“Well, they didn’t.  Told them I wanted his address or his email, gonna send him a fucking birthday card or something, but they said it was locked from third parties.”  Cain decided he needed a drink even if Keeler didn’t want one, and got up to see how much pertsovka he had left.

Keeler watched him set down the bottle and two glasses, but didn’t move to take a glass, so Cain only poured some for himself.  “You want some?” he asked, just to be polite.

“Too fiery for me.  Just water will be fine,” Keeler said, sounding like he knew what it was, and Cain wondered just how long Keeler had lived in Colony Five.  Ethan hadn’t recognized it, had refused to drink it after one sip.

He took the glass at Cain’s nod and slipped from his blanket to the sink.  The purifier spat and hissed for a second, like it always did the first time it was turned on each day, and Keeler filled the glass.  Cain studied his back and ass and legs, toned, not as skinny as Ethan, but not prettier either.

“So what are you hiding on that computer?” he asked when Keeler sat, cocooning himself in the blanket again.

Keeler shrugged, didn’t look like he had any big secret to reveal, and he didn’t:  “When I still had Alliance clearance, when the news companies got the story, I saved some information about my assignment history, my performance evals, some message chains with Cook about the promotion and my duties.  Just to cover my ass if there’s further investigation,” he added at Cain’s raised eyebrows.

“But what do you have on Ethan and Jack?” Cain pressed.

“They still live on Colony Three.  Got an apartment together.”

Cain waited.  But Keeler drank the water and didn’t say anything else.  “That’s it?  Barely more than I know.  You didn’t keep in contact with anyone?”

“Neither did you, correct?” Keeler shot back.

Cain scowled.  So they were both idiots, whatever.  “How do you know they’re on Colony Three?  When Ethan moved out of our apartment, he said he might go to Colony Two.”

Keeler rolled the glass between his hands, a slow, pensive motion.  “I had to go to Colony Four for a couple weeks for the airline, about five or six months ago.  Ran into Jack’s brother.  I didn’t know him, but he recognized me.  I asked about Jack, how he was doing.  He said Jack was well, and they’d visited when Jack and Ethan were on shore leave a while back.  He said they had a good visit at their place, and went to the Field of Mars to see the races.  Colony Six canceled their October races, so they must have been in Colony Three.  Then he mentioned Jack and Ethan were currently deployed to the same space station, but he’d heard they were still well.”

“He didn’t give you contact information?”

Keeler drew in a shallow breath, slowly.  “Jack doesn’t want to talk to me.”  He glanced at Cain without raising his head, expression inscrutable.  “But you.  The newsfeeds never named you.  Your involvement in the project was limited.  Why wouldn’t Ethan contact you?”

He drank.  The pertsovka was getting warm, didn’t taste right.  He poured himself a little more and went to put the bottle back in the refrigerator.  He stared at the pot of borscht there—he made a lot at once so he could eat it for days in a row.  Ethan always said his cooking was better than the Alliance’s mess hall slop.

But Ethan never contacted him now, never called to suggest they get lunch or a drink or anything, even though Colonies Three and Five were just half an hour apart by maglev train.  It was part of their agreement, the one Ethan had come up with, that this was for the best, that Cain and Ethan both needed to see other people.  That they weren’t necessarily in love—they were young, Cain had been Ethan’s first, neither of them really knew what they wanted, that sort of excuse.  Be apart.  Be deliberate about it.  No contact.

Cain had thought it over hundreds of times.  It sounded reasonable, rock-solid, when Ethan explained it to him.  But it never made sense when he tried to explain it to himself.

“He’s not interested in me anymore.  He wanted us to have a clean break so we could start over new, no baggage or some shit like that.”  Cain went back to the table, drained the rest of his glass.

Keeler’s mouth twisted into a half-smirk, knowing but not pitying.  “Baggage,” he scoffed.  “Okay.  So both of us know next to nothing.  What are you looking for?”

“Ethan.  Just want to see—”  If Ethan still thought about him, or wanted to see him.  Whether Ethan felt friendly towards him, or whether he really regretted spending so much time with Cain.  Whether he was happy with Jack.

“And if you don’t want Jack, then what _do_ you want?” he asked instead.

Keeler gathered the blanket around him like a cloak and stood.  “I don’t know, spit in his face and tell him I don’t give a shit about what he thinks of me,” he said flippantly, and Cain couldn’t tell if he was being serious.  “We’ll need to get in contact with our old—friends.  But later.  I’m going to bed.”

Cain turned off the main room lights and followed him, pretty sure he could get it up briefly, but Keeler had burrowed in the blankets and was nearly asleep by the time he reached the bed.


	5. Chapter 5

He’d figured that he would _really_ (eventually) try to get in contact with Ethan, make a meaningful effort to find him and speak with him.  But for almost a year and a half, he had stalled, telling himself to wait and see what he found from his compulsive internet-searching and his visits to the VA.  Checked his phone, too, obsessively at first, later only compulsively, to see if a strange number—Ethan’s new number—called.  Found any excuse to delay, because sometimes he was honest with himself, and the truth was that he was afraid of really achieving closure.

He didn’t want closure.  He wanted Ethan.

But now here was Keeler.  Cain would have bet money that Keeler had done precisely the same stalling, that his jilted-lover, doesn’t-give-a-shit-anymore act was covering his own insecurities regarding Jack.  Apprehensive and cowardly, just like Cain, but an opportunistic navigator nonetheless—from the moment they had met at Vanya’s, Keeler had probably been thinking of ways to use Cain to propel them both into action.  Why else would he become the impetus for their strange collaboration? 

Without Keeler laying out concrete plans for their investigation—Cain called it that because it sounded better than “stalking”—Cain wasn’t sure what he would have done with any contact information gleaned from Keeler.  Time and time before he had imagined himself meeting Ethan—confronting him?—maybe pretending disinterest until Ethan came back to him, because he wasn’t satisfied with Jack after all?  He was never sure, even in his imagination, what would happen. 

It was easier to accept paralysis rather than do something, until Keeler showed up with his plans and his biting insinuations that Cain was pathetic for not moving on.  Keeler, Cain reasoned, was looking into a mirror, and if they were both pathetic, then at least, thanks to Keeler, they weren’t static anymore. 

— 

_May 21_

Cain wound through the corridors of the VA complex, following the signs to the library.  Keeler had insisted they meet the morning of Saturday next to perform research, and Cain admitted it was a good idea.  His one disappointment was that meeting Keeler at a library probably wouldn’t lead to sex in a straightforward manner (and Keeler had been absent from Vanya’s all that week).  But Cain sucked it up—he had been unhappily celibate for months and months after Ethan left—and reminded himself of his ultimate goal, which involved sex with Ethan, not Keeler. 

Keeler was early, sitting at a table near the back of the reading room.  He waved Cain to him, past the stacks of military histories, declassified Alliance documents, veteran resources, and the yearbooks of various training cohorts.  With apprehension, Cain approached the table piled high with record folios and yearbooks, wondering what method Keeler had devised for their search. 

“Here, you look through these,” Keeler said without preamble as Cain sat opposite him.  He pushed a stack of yearbooks in front of Cain: some from fighters’ basic training, some from starfighter squadrons. 

“What am I looking for?”  Cain cracked open the basic training yearbook on the top.  He didn’t recognize the name of the camp. 

“People who know Jack or Ethan who _also_ know one of us.  We need real names, not task names, and as current contact information as possible.  Jack’s basic cohort is in one of those, and his squadron for our deployment.  I’m just not sure which, since the fighters and navigators are recorded separately for the yearbooks.”  Keeler put aside a navigators’ basic yearbook and opened another.  “I wish I’d kept track of more of our comrades, wish I hadn’t let all this time pass.” 

Cain grunted and flipped through the photographs and lists of names in the basic yearbook.  Jack wasn’t there.  He added the yearbook to the growing pile of rejected sources and started on another. 

They worked methodically for several hours, speaking rarely except to add names to a disappointingly short list of acquaintances.  Once he found yearbooks for Jack—basic training, first deployment, second deployment, third deployment—he scrutinized the fighters in the photographs and commendation lists, racking his brain for recollections of who had been close to Jack. 

There—in the third deployment, Jack’s sergeant:  “Cassius,” he said, reaching for Keeler’s handwritten list to add the name.  “Lucas Verne.” 

Keeler’s head was bent low over the yearbook in front of him, bobbing a little, even as his fingers lazily picked at the edge of the page, as if to turn it.  “Hey,” Cain said, and kicked him under the table. 

Keeler’s head jerked up and his eyes opened unevenly.  “Oh, sorry,” he mumbled. 

“What did you drag me out here so early for if you weren’t gonna get enough sleep yourself?” Cain groused, jotting down Cassius’ real name and shoving the paper back to Keeler. 

“I did.  It’s just a thing that happens.  Let’s keep going,” Keeler said, standing up with a frown.  He seemed more alert then, taking the pile of rejected books in his arms.  “I’ll put these back.” 

Cain glared after him, hoping Keeler didn’t expect _him_ to pick up the slack if he was going to doze until the library closed at noon.  “You gonna do that again?” he demanded when Keeler returned and sat like nothing had happened. 

“No.  Keep searching,” Keeler said frostily, all business again as he busily opened another yearbook. 

“You said it’s a thing that happens.  What’s that mean?” 

Keeler looked up with a scowl.  “Means I have a thing where I fall asleep in the day sometimes.  Deal with it.  I do.  Now hurry up, the library is going to close in an hour.” 

Cain returned his look suspiciously, picking up another book.  “Never saw you fall asleep on the _Sleipnir._  Hell, rumor said you never slept.” 

Keeler raised an eyebrow, contemptuous.  “Fighter rumors are garbage from beginning to end.  The medics gave me stimulant prescriptions, so I didn’t fall asleep as often.” 

Cain thought about the pill bottles he had seen in Keeler’s bag, wondered why they were empty, wondered if Keeler had gotten the prescriptions refilled.  “You still take them?”  Because if he was falling asleep, he probably didn’t. **  
**

“Sometimes,” Keeler said shortly, and refused to share any more information, pointedly flicking his eyes to the library’s big clock. 

— **  
**

When the librarians shooed them out to close the library, Keeler put the list of names and contact information in his pocket and asked Cain if he wanted to grab lunch.  Cain, curious about Keeler now, said yes.  As he followed Keeler back through the winding hallways, he thought more about Keeler’s “thing” and the stimulants

 The Alliance had good insurance for veterans, so Keeler’s medication should have been affordable.  The newsfeeds reported that Keeler had been discharged (more like fired and hurriedly dumped back on Mars, Cain knew now), but his benefits were protected by impenetrable laws.  Then again, the vet medical insurance rules were so byzantine that Cain could barely navigate the system to get his regular supply of contact lenses, so maybe Keeler was having trouble getting his prescriptions without a spaceship medical officer to facilitate the process.

Not that it was any of his business, and not that he cared.  But he was surprised to find how refreshing it felt to think about someone other than himself (or Ethan) for the first time in more than a year.

He studied Keeler’s neutral expression, watched him squint his pale eyes as they stepped outside into the sunshine.  Like fire on gold, the light caught Keeler’s hair, and it shone.  He had never seen it in natural daylight before—only in the evening or night, or only in the artificial light of the _Sleipnir_.  He liked it.  The color was deeper than Ethan’s.

Then he thought of Ethan and Jack—maybe on shore leave, standing in the sunshine, Ethan’s hair bright white-gold, Jack’s a rich, vibrant brown.

He looked at their list folded in Keeler’s hand and hoped something good would come of this.

—

At the sandwich shop on the VA grounds, Keeler found a table by the window where they could eat and look out over the sunken parade ground at the center of the complex.  He flattened the list on the tabletop to study it, ignoring Cain until:  “I’ll contact the navigators, and you the fighters,” he decided.  “Do it as soon as possible.  Make friendly overtures, ask how they’re doing, and wait for a good moment to ask about Jack or Ethan.”

“That’s subtle,” Cain muttered wryly as he chewed, spewing crumbs across the little table.

Keeler grimaced and shifted his seat so that he was diagonal to Cain rather than across from him.  “It’ll get results faster,” he insisted.  “I’m tired of waiting around, doing nothing.  I’ll send you your part of the list.  What’s your email address?”

They exchanged their contact information, and then Cain looked at the timestamp on the newsfeed playing over the door of the shop.  One o’clock in the afternoon.  Too early to fuck if he wanted to get errands and shit done.  “You gonna be at the bar tonight?” he asked.

Keeler smiled a little, tightly.  “Sure.”

Cain put down some cash to cover his sandwich and scooted his chair back, the legs scraping across the linoleum tiles.  “Think we might get lucky?”

That got a smirk out of Keeler, and not an overly nasty one.  “There’s a distinct possibility I’ll be willing to settle yet again.  Dismissed.”

Cain scowled and Keeler laughed, mean as ever.

—

More of Keeler’s derisive comments as they drank, more wondering how Keeler got off on this stupid game, more certain that Keeler fucking hated himself for getting involved with shady Alliance shit and losing Jack (and his job) over it.

By the time they got back to Keeler’s apartment that evening, Cain was pissed off for letting Keeler scoff at him all evening and remind him of the many reasons why he preferred Ethan.  And Keeler?  Pleased with himself, quiet, languid.

Cain wished for Ethan—sweet, simple, straightforward.

Barely making a sound, eyes drifting open and closed, Keeler rocked under him, none of the wild energy of their earlier meetings, simply letting Cain do the work.  That pissed off Cain too, more than Keeler’s constant digs that Cain wasn’t as good as Jack was—for Keeler, for Ethan, for anyone.  He reminded himself that everything Keeler did was nonsensical, was just another fucking game, another way for a navigator to screw over a fighter.

Just like all those counseling sessions and Ethan, no longer sweet and straightforward.  Rather than being direct about it, rather than telling Cain to his face to get lost, and why.  Could’ve ended everything in one sentence, chose instead to slowly cut them apart.

He felt Keeler’s legs relax, but mired in his thoughts and bitter memories, he kept thrusting even as they fell from his shoulders to lie spread and limp.  Keeler’s head rolled to the side a little, and then Cain noticed that his eyes were completely shut.

“Keeler?” he asked, slowing and leaning closer.  Keeler didn’t respond.

“Don’t fucking ignore me while we’re doing this,” he said louder, punctuating his words with sharp thrusts, _snap snap snap_.  Keeler’s head lolled to his shoulder.  Ah-ha, it was the “thing that just happened,” though how it could happen during _sex_ , of all things, Cain had no fucking idea.  He pulled back a hand, considering a wake-up slap.  He’d often wanted to slap Keeler’s fucking smug face over the past few weeks, and this was the best reason he’d had so far.

But then, as he shifted back, he looked down at the scars over Keeler’s problematic lab-grown heart and wondered if this wasn’t the sleeping thing after all.

He grasped Keeler’s shoulders, catching fistfuls of blond hair, and shook him hard, just to be sure.  “Keeler, I swear, if you fucking die while I’m fucking you, I’ll hunt you down in hell and bash in your stupid pretty face—”

Keeler moaned a little, eyes still shut.

“Wake the fuck up!”

But Keeler let out a sighing little breath and stayed that way, limp under Cain but still tight around his cock.

Cain leaned down close again, put his ear to Keeler’s mouth, and listened to him breathe.  Slow breaths, in and out, soft and low.  Well, at least he wasn’t dead.

But he was still asleep, and Cain was still hard.  Fucking fantastic.

He pulled out roughly, snarling when Keeler didn’t stir even for that, and went to the bathroom to finish himself.

After, he returned to the bedroom to find his clothes.  Keeler still lay there sleeping as if dead, bared obscenely, and Cain studied him for a moment.  Not sexy at all, looked like he’d been fed fucking sleeping pills.  More and more upset, Cain nudged Keeler’s legs closed and pulled the blanket over him.  He told himself to leave, because Keeler wasn’t worth the worry and the mindfucks.

Keeler mumbled nonsense, moved a little, and a few minutes later, as Cain watched him still from the bedside with a frown and his pants clutched in his fist, Keeler’s eyes opened and he sat up sluggishly.  He peered at Cain with a little frown.  “You going?”

Cain gave him a sour look.

“You wanna stay for another round—?”

Cain sneered.  “Fuck that.  You couldn’t even finish the first without falling asleep on my cock.”

“We didn’t finish?”  Keeler had the gall to sound surprised.

“ _I_ finished, baby, in the fucking shower.  Alone.  While you slept.”  Cain scowled down at Keeler, studying his perplexed expression.  More of Keeler’s games, though Cain couldn’t figure what the hell the point of this one was.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Keeler said after a moment, voice low, trembling with restrained anger.  “It’s just something that happens.”

“Falling asleep for a moment in the library is one thing.  Falling asleep when I’m fucking you is another.  No wonder Jack left you.”

“He didn’t leave because of that.  My—that wasn’t the problem, you _know_ that,” Keeler snapped, throwing off the blanket and climbing out of bed.

“I couldn’t fucking wake you up.  I shook you and everything,” Cain said, resentful, grinding his jaw.

Keeler shot him an angry look, shouldering past him into the bathroom.  “Sometimes I fall deep asleep.   _Sometimes_.  It’s eleven at night, so why wouldn’t I?  Fuck’s sake, let it go, Cain.  Do you want to fuck or not?”

Cain threw his pants back to the floor, unable to tell if he felt pissed or worried or something else.  “You gonna fall asleep on my cock again?”

“Let’s do it standing up.  Never fallen asleep that way before.”  Keeler didn’t sound concerned, didn’t act like he realized how upset Cain was.

Cain narrowed his eyes, doubtful, wondering how many times a day Keeler dropped off.  “You need a stimulant?”

“No,” snarled Keeler, whirling around.  “This is none of your business, Cain.  I manage very well on my own.  But you are _this close_ to getting kicked out without any fucking at all, so shut the fuck up and get in here.”

—

They fucked in the shower, and Keeler didn’t fall asleep, demonstrating his wakefulness by fucking back against Cain roughly until he, Keeler, came, and then finishing Cain off as he reached behind to finger him.  The press of fingers startled Cain, reminding him too much of Ethan and his boldness.  But Ethan’s boldness was hot and sweet, focused on discovering new pleasures with Cain, and Keeler was only discovering new ways to use Cain.

But he figured he was using Keeler too.  He bit Keeler’s ear, growling against the back of his neck, and came hard.


	6. Chapter 6

_May 22_

He didn’t know what to expect when Cassius answered the video call.  Indifference, or maybe a few comments about Jack being better for Ethan before Cassius hung up. 

But he didn’t expect to see Cassius—Lucas—before a great window, rolling, fertile hills behind him, dotted with a herd of aurochs. 

Lucas smiled at him, wide and friendly.  “Hey, Cain.” 

“Hey,” Cain replied slowly.  “Don’t need to ask what you’re doing.” 

Lucas glanced out the window.  “My family owns part of the herd.  When I’m not deployed, I help out.” 

“Manure’s doing well in the, um, market.  Stock market,” Cain observed, glad he’d heard that on the news recently.  Perfect for small talk. 

“Business is better than it’s been for a decade, and we’re not affiliated with the larger companies, so yeah, we’re doing great.  Colony Eight is completely green, like nothing I’ve ever seen.  But I’m heading out in a couple months.  What are you up to these days?” 

Cain shifted as Lucas studied him.  “I’m keeping busy in the Alliance hangars.” 

Lucas’ smile went rueful, lopsided.  “That can’t be easy for you.” 

“Well, they won’t let me take active duty as a fighter again.  My eyes—I wear contacts, you know, it’s a liability.”  He took a deep breath.  “So, you still working with Encke?” 

“With Jack?  Not since the _Sleipnir_.” 

“You ever talk to him?” Cain asked, but then wished he hadn’t, because it sounded too obvious and jealous. 

Lucas knew it too, looked a bit pitying, Cain thought.  “Yeah, sometimes.  I heard you broke up with your navigator.  Sorry to hear that.” 

“Uh, yeah, he’s with Jack now, but whatever, it’s been more than a year,” Cain said.  The words sounded like a jumble in his ears, brave and careless but garbled and too loud. 

Apparently all Lucas heard was brave and careless:  “True, it’s been a while.  You seeing someone else—someone new?” 

“Yeah, I’m good.  But hey, I might be going to Colony Three for work sometime soon, and I wanted to know if you knew Jack’s address.  Or phone.  I wanted to call, see if we can meet up for a drink.”  He shut his mouth with a clack.  Way too much detail, didn’t sound right.  Why would Lucas need to know all of that?  He sounded like an idiot. 

But Lucas just grinned.  “Oh, sure!  I don’t have his address, but his cell number—hey, give me yours and I’ll send it to you.  We should stay in touch more.”  He already had his phone out (the latest model; clearly aurochs manure was in high demand), tapping away, then looking back up at Cain expectantly. 

Cain couldn’t speak for a moment.  He ducked away from the camera to find his phone, the same glitchy one he’d had since before his first deployment; he ducked away to hide his surprise.  He and Cassius, no, _Lucas_ had gotten along well enough, after Jack laid down the law on the ship.  But Cain hadn’t kept in contact with him, with anyone at all, not even Deimos.  Too busy thinking about Ethan and feeling sorry for himself.  Couldn’t stop himself from feeling surprised that even after more than a year of silence, Lucas wanted to rebuild a connection. 

The surprise felt odd, stuck in his throat somewhere, but he let it be.  He held up his phone and managed a smile that didn’t look pathetically grateful.  “Okay, here’s my number.  You ready?...” 

— 

_May 23_

Keeler had to work late the next evening.  He texted Cain with the address of a rum bar closer to his workplace, and Cain met him there as the clock struck nine.  Keeler looked like shit, like he’d done a sixteen hour shift (and he had, Keeler confirmed), clothes smudged with the most grease Cain had seen yet.  “Engine prototype’s ready for final tests,” Keeler said shortly when Cain asked.  “I work with idiots.  Had to put half of it together myself.” 

Cain snorted quietly into his glass.  Keeler still micromanaged his colleagues, even when all they were doing was building an engine for a fucking airplane.  Probably would micromanage the assembly of a child’s toy kite, if given the chance. 

“Right.  Well, got something that’ll cheer you up, baby.”  He made a show of getting out his phone, opening his messages, handing the device to Keeler so casually Keeler glared and tore it from his hand. 

He read the message, all ten words, at least a dozen times, the circles under his eyes seeming to disappear in the glow of the cell phone screen.  “Jack Duval’s number,” he whispered after a moment, and looked up at Cain.  “So Lucas came through.  Good work.  I didn’t know if he’d be reachable.” 

“He’s between deployments, farming aurochs manure.” 

Keeler made a face.  “Must stink to high heaven, but I envy his bank account.  This is all you got?” 

Cain plucked his phone from Keeler’s hand.  “Tried to contact four others.  Two are on deployments, so I left messages.  Two don’t know anything.  What about you?  What did you find?” 

“Puck and Oberon are on Station Nineteen, so I got a message through to their mail.  Puck—Aiden probably knows Ethan’s number or address.”  He signaled to the bartender for another glass.  “I hope—I don’t even know if they want to talk with me.  Aiden was so angry that I’d—that the mission put Ethan in danger.  You’re fucking lucky, Cain.  Most people never even knew you were involved.” 

Cain nodded.  Not many knew.  Ethan did, though, and that was enough. 

“When the news broke, I didn’t think my name—they mentioned the commanders, of course, but they didn’t name Ethan, or even you...I figured I would be protected also.  Didn’t guess that fucking _Copernicus_ would turn out to be a leak.  Glad they court-martialed him.  Fucking asshole.”  Keeler tilted his glass back and forth, watched the rum swirl.  His mouth was tight, just the remnants of a frown, despite his angry words.  He must’ve told the story to himself a thousand times already, turning it over to look at it from every angle, over-thinking just like a bored navigator was prone to do. 

“That when Jack found out?” Cain guessed. 

Keeler nodded once, short and sharp, eyes fixed on his glass.  “Saw it on a newsfeed in the subway.  Left a week later.  Didn’t take him long to put all the pieces together and figure out that the candidate was Ethan, and that you were involved too.” 

“He just up and ditch you?”  Cain was surprised.  Jack had seemed so precise and rigid in the Alliance, did everything by the book, from fighting to fucking to breaking up.   

Ethan, on the other hand, spent a leisurely month dropping hints before finally dropping the bomb, and then another two months of half-hearted counseling and sort of living apart before they agreed—well, before Ethan told Cain they were going to agree—to “amicably separate,” like they were having a fucking divorce even with no marriage. 

Keeler shook his head a little.  “Told me he was going to go, said I should’ve told him everything, even back in the middle of the mission, when it was classified.  Said I should’ve at least told him after, or before the news broke, or before my name came out.  Shouldn’t’ve let him find out on his own what a filthy liar I was.  Am.  Fuck.”  Keeler drained his glass. 

“He said that, called you filthy?” 

“Might as well have.  I got the message, anyway.  Let’s go somewhere else and find something stronger than rum,” Keeler said wearily. 

“Let’s go back to my flat, baby, fuck around before you pass out,” Cain suggested as he paid their tab.  Better than more moping. **  
**

— 

“What did you think of the engine?” Keeler asked as they meandered through the narrow streets to Cain’s apartment. 

Cain didn’t have to ask what he was getting at, even with just that one question.  “Fucking weird idea, hooking up the navigator’s brain to the main system.” 

“And the potential for permanent brain damage?” 

Cain frowned down at the pavement.  “Well, guess you’re lucky Ethan figured out what was going on and redesigned it before Cook had Ethan actually use it.” 

Keeler was quiet for a few minutes.  “Why didn’t you tell him yourself?  Thought you loved him.” 

“Didn’t,” Cain said shortly.  Not immediately, at least, and by the time he did start to love Ethan, there was nothing he could do anyway.  Besides, the brain damage was only a possibility.  And counterfactual speculation didn’t help anything. 

“His engine was less efficient, less effective,” Keeler mused, “but good enough to get the job done.  He deserved the promotion after.”  He doesn’t sound angry, or relieved, or like anything.  He sounds like the lead navigator, assessing the work of his subordinate. 

“Yeah.”  Cain wondered why Keeler wanted to go over this now.  He turned at his street, took Keeler’s arm to pull him along when Keeler kept walking straight, but Keeler pulled back.  “I’m not ready to fuck yet, come on, let’s go to Vanya’s.” 

Cain followed because there was no point in arguing with Keeler. 

— 

But he should have argued, because now Keeler was “too drunk to fuck,” and their sloppy kissing and groping as they stumbled into Cain’s apartment proved that Cain was too drunk too. 

Keeler went to the bathroom, drank a lot of water and pissed a lot out, Cain taking his turn after.  He wandered into the bedroom to find Keeler changing into a pair of Cain’s sweatpants, the chest of drawers still open and a wreck from Keeler’s clumsy rummaging. 

“That’s _so_ much better,” Keeler slurred with a sigh, tossing his t-shirt away to join his jacket and jeans and underwear.  He flopped across the bed, shielding his eyes with an arm and cursing.  “Your lights are too damn bright.” 

“You’re too fucking drunk, baby,” Cain pointed out, kicking off his boots and jeans ungracefully, undressing completely and joining Keeler on the bed. 

“Turn off the lights,” Keeler insisted, elbowing his side and shoving at him until he stood up again. 

“You’ll just fall asleep.”  But he turned off the lights anyway.  Left on the one in the bathroom, since it was dull and yellow, indirect.  Keeler complained again after a moment, and Cain went to turn it off. 

They lay on top of the covers, approximately side-by-side but no way to tell for sure in the dark.  Cain listened to Keeler’s breathing even out—falling asleep, just like he’d predicted—and he let himself doze too. 

Some time later, he wasn’t sure how long, the bed lurched, jostling him awake.  Keeler was getting up, fumbling for something beside the bed, palms finding empty space and slapping against the wall, breaths quiet but quick now.  Cain pulled himself out of sleep, pushed himself out of bed and flicked on the light. 

Keeler straightened slowly, blinking his eyes in the too-bright light. 

“Okay?” Cain asked, his throat dry.  Needed more water. 

“Saw a spider, didn’t know where the light was,” Keeler said after a moment. 

“Spider?  Where?” Slowly Cain became more alert. 

Keeler gestured vaguely at the bed.  “Curled on the pillow, all these cobwebs knitting its legs together.” 

Cain looked at the pillow, but he already knew.  “Nothing there.  Getting some water.  For you, too.” 

He went to the kitchen, grabbed two cups and let the purifier spit at him before filling the cups.  Wondered how often Keeler saw spiders in the dark.  Wondered if this was another “thing that just happened.” 

So he asked, feeling more awake as he gave Keeler one cup and watched Keeler drink deeply. 

“It’s—it’s a symptom, yeah,” Keeler admitted after a few minutes of silence.  “It doesn’t happen often.  But medication never helped.” 

Cain watched him.  “It’s a dream?  And you just wake up?” 

“It’s a dream I have when I’m waking up,” clarified Keeler.  “Sometimes.” 

He watched Keeler lie down again, sprawled across the covers, staring up the ceiling thoughtfully and not sleepily.  “So you’re awake now,” Cain said slowly.  “Wanna fuck?” 

— 

Took turns sucking each other off, Cain on Keeler first, Keeler on him second, and Keeler fingered him again—still surprising, not as unpleasant a surprise as before.  Still reminded him of Ethan, but reminded him that it felt good too. 

Keeler worked one lube-slicked finger inside, hooked it to rub his prostate, thrust it in time with the suction of his mouth on Cain’s cock.  Cain groaned, still feeling a bit drunk and warm, nudging his hips up against Keeler’s restraining hand.  Keeler pinched him when his hips rose too far, too quickly, and the pain knocked him down a little on his buildup to orgasm.  He felt Keeler add a second finger, stretching him open even as he sucked harder, thrust harder, made Cain gasp and shout as he came.  He looked down his body as Keeler pulled his head away, dragging his fingers out slowly—when had Keeler added a third?—and for a moment he couldn’t think of anything but Keeler crouched over him, hand on his ass, _so fucking hot_. 

“Knew you’d like that, Ethan told me,” Keeler said then, ruining it. 

Cain scowled and jerked Keeler’s hand away from his ass.  Ethan was such a trusting blabbermouth.  Probably had spilled their sex life to all of his friends, even the ones who weren’t really friendly or nice, like Keeler. 

But Keeler’s sneer faded, replaced by lethargic contentment.  He pulled the sweatpants up over his hips again, collapsing on the bed with his eyes closed, and Cain turned off the lights.  Again they rested in the dark, listening to their breathing, to the creaking and cracking of the apartment walls settling. 

He thought Keeler was trying to fall asleep, until he heard him, his voice seeming to come out of nowhere but for the heat of his body against Cain.  “It would’ve been me.  They said I should pick the candidates from the recruits because I’d be perfect myself.  If it wasn’t for my heart, and the sleep thing.” 

Cain couldn’t see him, not even a darker shape against the blackness of night, when he turned his head to look.  It was like talking to a ghost, or a confessor.  Except Cain was confessing Keeler, and he wasn’t going to make it easy, say whatever Keeler wanted to hear, because Keeler was an asshole.  “Is that your excuse?” he scoffed. 

“It’s my _reason_ ,” Keeler snapped back, not sleepy at all. 

“Bullshit.  You were glad it wasn’t you when they told you about it.”  When they’d said Keeler had dodged a bullet because his body was fucked up. 

“Wasn’t fucking glad.  I was relieved, like that’s some crime,” huffed Keeler, shifting and jostling Cain.  “Why should it have been me and not Ethan?  He’s got everything, he ever tell you?  Grew up on Earth, two brothers and a sister, and two parents, dogs, lizards, a fucking _parakeet_.  My mom and me, it’s just us.  She’s got no one but me.” 

That surprised Cain a little, but he had no time for pity.  He felt along Keeler’s side, muscles so tense and defensive.  “So get her a fucking parakeet.”  Pretty sure Keeler could hear his sneer even if he couldn’t see it. 

“Don’t be an idiot.” 

“You jealous because he’s rich?” 

Keeler’s hair moved.  Cain guessed Keeler was looking in his direction.  “And you aren’t?” 

He felt lower, found the waistband of Keeler’s sweats.  “Have to give a shit about it to be jealous, sweetheart.  I don’t give a fuck about Ethan’s money or his fucking family.”  What he wanted was just Ethan.

What he had was Keeler, twisting into his arms, hips tilting up so Cain’s hand slipped inside the sweats.  Cain gripped his cock and turned to him, kissing his neck, his chest, the scars, whatever he found in the dark.


	7. Chapter 7

_May 24_

“See you,” Keeler called. 

“Yeah,” Cain replied, sticking his head out of the bathroom for a moment to watch the front door shut behind Keeler. 

He turned back to the mirror and blinked his eyes furiously, rubbing at them, waiting for the stinging to fade, but finally giving up.  He pinched out the contact lenses—they never seemed to last the full two weeks advertised—and flicked them onto the bathroom counter with a muttered curse.  The contents of the sink drawer jostled noisily as he yanked it open, pawing around for his glasses case.  “Fucking specs,” he muttered as he put them on, cold and sharp and as uncomfortable as the day the Alliance optometrist had given them to him.  He looked for the box of contact lenses next. 

His slightly weakened eyesight had been the Alliance’s excuse to discharge him quietly.  Can’t fire artillery with the same precision, they said, even when wearing glasses or contact lenses.  The discharge was normal procedure, a pity but not career-ending, and he’d be transferred to Alliance craft maintenance in one of the Colonies. 

He knew it was all bullshit.  He didn’t even really need the glasses for day-to-day use—shapes were a little blurry, but hardly enough to matter.  The doctors could’ve done some surgery and had him back in the cockpit in no time.  Command hadn’t breathed a word about incompetence for several months after he went in for the initial eye exam.  It was only after the scandal hit the news that his eyesight became an issue.  It was only an excuse to pull him from active duty permanently. 

But it was a good excuse, for him too.  A few weeks after he got the news that he wouldn’t have another deployment, the newsfeeds dug up the story about the neuro-engine project, and then Keeler’s task name got out.  After that, Cain was grateful for his quiet exit.  Besides, he got some extra disability pay after medical spun some story about starfighter turbulence harming his eyes (probably true anyway, from what the doctors said), and the money went towards the contacts so he didn’t have to wear glasses and remotely resemble that fucker Cook. 

And anyway, he didn’t want to be a fighter anymore if he couldn’t be Abel’s fighter.  Cain only worked with the best. 

— 

He found a place to stand at the back of the train car, leaned against the wall so he could look out the window at the subway tunnel flashing by.  Still melancholy from his thoughtful morning, he wished Ethan was standing next to him, or that he’d never met him in the first place. 

He took the assignment because of the pay raise, and Bering kept going on about Cain’s potential, maybe he’d be a lieutenant one day soon, even without training at some fancy military academy.  Cain was pretty sure Bering hadn’t been lying about that.  Everyone knew Bering played favorites among the fighters, and Cain, with his good rankings and clear commitment to improvement, was a favorite. 

_“This is an excellent opportunity for you to work on a special project, son,”_ Bering had said, describing to him in vague terms his role in the assignment.  Cain took the chance, took all the tests and checks required for higher security clearance, and by the end of the week he was partnered with Candidate One. 

_“Cook needs someone smart, but smart navigators are nosy.  Your job is to watch him, keep him busy with training, keep him from wandering and poking around.  Lead Navigator Keeler will monitor his tablet and lab console, but we’re depending on you to do the bulk of the work.”_

Yes, sir, absolutely, sir.  The first candidate was gone before three weeks were out, though, getting a message from home that his mother had died.  His training scores plummeted, and at their weekly videoconference meetings between Space Station Six and the _Sleipnir_ Lead Navigator Keeler informed Cook, Bering, their assistants, and Cain that the project timeline was fucked if they kept Candidate One. 

Well, he’d said “jeopardized.” 

So Candidate One was given a long bereavement leave, and Keeler sent Candidate Three to Cain. 

Candidate Three was fucking hot, long hair and a fit body, flirting dangerously with Cain from the start.  Cain told himself that it was _not_ appropriate to get involved, but they were fucking by the end of the first week anyway.  It was fun, and it felt a little dangerous, and Candidate Three’s training scores actually improved.  Privately, Cain attributed this increase to their stress-relieving recreation. 

Bering found out, somehow, but shrugged it off.  _“So long as it keeps him busy.  But don’t get attached, son,”_ he’d said, and had gone on about _“matters of the heart”_ for a few minutes.  Cain thought that was pretty cheesy, and a little creepy with the way Bering kept patting his back, though he had a point.  Hypothetically, the navigator candidate had a twenty percent chance of entering a coma after disconnecting from the neuro-engine, and a fifty percent chance of suffering permanent brain damage.  Keeler spent half an hour during their third project meeting explaining those and a trillion other reasons why the engine was dangerous for the navigator using it.  Sure scared the fuck out of Cain—he was glad the fighter wouldn’t be hooked up to the engine’s mainframe too.  Keeler recommended more time in the lab, to reduce the risk to the navigator of brain damage. 

But Cook dismissed Keeler’s concerns.  _“We don’t have time to start the design from the beginning, Keeler.  The Colterons are completing their shipyard more quickly than anticipated; if anything, we must accelerate the project timeline.”_   Cook acknowledged the moral dilemma of not telling the Candidates about the project, but shrugged it off just as swiftly.  Apparently, Cook couldn’t openly ask for volunteers because of the controversial nature of the project, and the need for utmost secrecy, lest the Colterons learn about the engine.  The whole thing seemed a shady plan even after Cook’s longwinded explanation, but Cain had followed orders dutifully, not telling his Candidates anything, not getting attached to Candidate Three. 

Turned out he hadn’t time to get attached.  In a skirmish off Space Station Six, substantial debris from Colteron wreckage propelled their starfighter from its flight path and into the line of fire of another Colteron vessel.  Candidate Three brought them back to the station with one hand, since he’d lost the other arm and both legs below the knees. 

Cook decided to send him back to Earth.  Keeler reluctantly assigned Candidate Two to the project. 

The problem with Candidate Two was his father, a prominent politician in the United States of North America.  Newsfeeds out of Ottawa eagerly tracked Senator Adams’ voting record and opinion on all international and interplanetary matters.  Earth and the colonies knew him in particular for his non-interventionist perspective of the outer space territory wars— _“What do we need empty space for?  Defense of our borders is more important than expansion.”_ —that sort of thing, always rowing with his hawkish colleagues.  Military analysts often argued in special newsfeed reports that it wasn’t only a territory war seeking expansion of the Earth and colonies, but an effort to prevent Colteron invasion.  The colonies faced the more immediate danger, of course, but analysts and journalists threw Earth in the argument to stir up the political passions of the earthbound. 

So Candidate Two had to be watched very, very closely, and the newsfeeds had to be kept unaware of his military work.  Bering authorized Cain to use Deimos to watch Ethan as well.  Deimos didn’t know about the project or mission, and didn’t need to, didn’t need any reason to do something for Cain, because he liked Cain. 

Mere days after Bering handed down Cain’s new task name and he met Candidate Two, Abel, they joined the _Sleipnir_ and Keeler in person—joined of Abel’s volition, no less.  This stirred Cain’s suspicion at first.  How stupid was this new candidate to volunteer for a suicide mission?  Cook had anticipated the possibility of Abel _not_ volunteering, had planned to have Abel promoted to Keeler’s assistant and assigned to the _Sleipnir_. 

Or how smart was Abel?  Did he know something Cain didn’t?  Cain challenged Abel on his choice, and then he realized that whether Abel was smart or stupid wasn’t a factor.  Abel was _brave_.  Had a hero complex, wanted to save the Earth and the colonies, thought it couldn’t be done without Abel in the thick of battle. 

Well, fine.  Abel could focus on being a hero, while Cain kept him close.  They fucked a lot, and fucking Abel proved even better than fucking Candidate Three.  Abel was so energetic and single-minded, so pretty and open, so brave and good.  He responded so well to Cain’s bullying, didn’t stand for any crap, and Cain knew that Abel only _let_ him have the upper hand.  Just a game, but a fun one, one they could both enjoy. 

He kept going to the project meetings, with Abel none the wiser.  Keeler reported that he had Candidates Four, Five, and Six lined up, like ducks in a row, ready for reassignment if Abel washed out, but Abel didn’t.  His scores kept improving.  His work in the lab on the engine reconfigurations gained a reputation as exceptional.  His commitment to the Alliance held strong, unwavering.  Abel was the one, Keeler assured the commanders. 

A month passed, then two.  They flew deep into Colteron territory, and the project timeline moved onward.  The neuro-engine neared readiness, and then it was ready, its complete design obscured on the navigator consoles, critical parts omitted so that its purpose was unclear.  In two weeks, Cook said, Abel would fly the neuro-engine into the shipyard and Cain would fire the missiles to start the chain of explosions. 

Everything was perfect. 

Except Cain had gotten attached to Abel. 

And Abel had figured out what he was seeing on his lab console. 

_“The new engine requires input from the navigator’s brain,”_ Abel told him one evening, pensively, chewing his lip and staring down at the tablet in his hand.  Cain immediately knew that Abel had discovered the engine project.  But there was much he didn’t know—how long had Abel known?  Did he know it was a deliberate secret, and did he know about the planned mission?  Did he know Cain was involved?  Did he know Keeler, the lead navigator he admired so much, was even more deeply involved? 

Cain had made some noncommittal noises that didn’t mean anything— _“Whatever, you navigator pansies need to deal with your own shit.”_ —and wondered what to do.  Tell Keeler, Bering, Cook? 

He almost told at the next meeting, and the next, but he couldn’t.  And he wanted to come clean to Abel, spill everything, but he couldn’t.  Not telling the project members was the best he could do, giving Abel time to figure out an escape. 

But Abel was brave.  Of course he wouldn’t escape.  Cain barely spoke as they climbed into the _Reliant_ for their “solo reconnaissance mission,” couldn’t get any words around the hard, heavy ball of despair in his stomach.  He knew Abel’s name now, from Abel’s lips against his, though he’d known it from Keeler’s briefing already.  _Ethan_.  Ethan knew his name too.  They had whispered each other’s names in the dark so many times now, between kissing and fucking, before they slept, after they woke.  They were attached, and even so, Cain let Ethan endanger his life. 

Yet Ethan was safe.  He’d rewired the engine.  He’d disabled the neuro-connection, sharpened the engine’s responsiveness to his fingers instead.  Cain figured it out in the Colteron shipyard, when the ship didn’t respond like a ship connected to a brilliant pilot’s brain—had a moment of panic until he realized how well Ethan was compensating for the diminished engine. 

And after it all, after the shipyard was chunks of debris far behind them, he almost told Ethan everything there in the hangar.  Didn’t because Ethan was warm and alive in his arms, and he’d feared for weeks now that he’d be dead or comatose.  Didn’t because he didn’t want to risk losing Ethan. 

At the last meeting, the closing of the project, the commanders decided to keep the failed neuro-engine quiet, so Cain gratefully followed their lead, and didn’t tell Ethan anything.  Didn’t breathe a word as he followed Ethan to the colonies when their deployment ended, as they leased an apartment near the Alliance base, as they continued their life together. 

Didn’t breathe a word until the news companies got word somehow—probably that worm Copernicus, he thought at the time—and Ethan, from the terrible moment he realized Keeler wasn’t so nice after all, started wondering, started figuring out that Cain had to have known _something_. 

Everything changed incrementally after that, and now Cain was alone and bitter, with only lonely and bitter Keeler for company. 

Fuck. 

The train screeched to a halt, and Cain shuffled out with the crowd of commuters. 

— 

_May 25_

His phone beeped as he grabbed his bag from the hangar locker room at the end of the workday.  _Missed messages_ , the screen read when he unlocked it.  Seleucus and Ptolemy had both contacted him, just hours apart. 

_Good to hear from you_ , Seleucus wrote, and it was good for Cain to hear back from him too.  They’d been in basic together—a good time, and Cain cast his thoughts back fondly.  Seleucus was older, joining after ten years with the Colony Four police department.  Though he had an accelerated basic training program, he took Cain and some of the other youngest ones, among them Deimos, under his wing, helped them with the adjustment to the highly-structured and disciplined Alliance life. 

_You had me worried when they moved you to the hangars,_ he continued, _but I knew you’d resurface when you were ready.  I’m on the_ Airavata _, returning to Station Two at the end of the week.  Let’s talk then.  –Hyun-woo  
_

And from Ptolemy, one of Bering’s assistants who had conducted the quarterly psychological evaluations for the fighters:  _Hey, how are you doing?  It’d be great to catch up with you.  I’m off duty mid-day GMT most days.  Let me know what day works for you. –Sayid_

He reread the messages many times on the subway ride back to his neighborhood, thinking about how strange he felt, being on the verge of renewing more acquaintances and finding Ethan. 

_Awesome, how’s noon Saturday?_ he wrote back to Hyun-woo, and _Awesome, how’s noon Sunday?_ to Sayid. 

Just as he was slipping his phone back into his pocket, it beeped again. 

Alexei Petrov wrote, _Seleucus said you contacted him.  He gave me your number._

That was all.  No “want to talk?” or “where have you been?” or “why haven’t you contacted me?”  Thankfully, no “do you want me?” or, even worse, “do you need me?” 

Cain didn’t need anyone, and he only wanted Ethan.  But it didn’t hurt to have more—or any—friends.  Even rats like Deimos, who were only useful when nearby, really.  Deimos was thousands of miles away on Station Eight, still a fighter of middling talent with his smarmy, middling navigator Phobos.  Deimos was useless to him, far from Cain, far from Ethan and Jack. 

But it would be nice to speak to him again. 

_Alyosha_ , he began, then deleted it and started over.  _Myshonok._   Erased that too.  _Videochat Friday 20:00 GMT.  Good to hear from you._   He sent it before he could erase it because it was too sappy for Cain.  Deimos would appreciate the sappiness, like a kiss on the cheek or something stupid like that.  He deserved it anyway, had done enough snooping around for Cain during their deployments together to merit a nice word. 

He checked the time on his phone and texted Keeler.  _Vanya’s at 9 or straight to my place?_

A few minutes later:  _My place at 8.  
_

Asshole.  _9_ , he texted.  _I’m busy_ , he added. 

_You’re not.  Don’t be late._

He’d show up at half after just for that.


	8. Chapter 8

He changed his mind and decided it would be much more annoying to show up at seven o’clock; walked faster than he realized and got there at a quarter ’til. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said casually when Keeler opened the door after Cain’s insistent knocking, relishing the confused little frown on Keeler’s face.  “You eaten yet?” 

Expression still sour, Keeler stepped aside to let him in anyway.  “I wasn’t aware this was a dinner date.” 

“You wish.” 

“Hardly.” 

“So what’s for supper?” 

“Stew.  Sit down.” 

“Yes, sir,” Cain said mockingly, taking a seat at Keeler’s empty table.  Keeler brought his own half-eaten bowl of stew from the kitchen, and a full bowl for Cain.  “You always eat standing up?” Cain asked him, looking suspiciously at the stew. 

“Why bother to sit when it’s just me?”  Keeler sat and started eating, staring into his bowl with a subdued manner.  Cain wasn’t sure what to make of Keeler’s quiet and the lack of sneering, so he filled the silence himself. 

“Did you cook cute little meals for Jack?  Set the table with doilies and play house?”  Cain smelled the stew.  Weakly seasoned and seemed to have an unreasonable amount of celery.  Not very promising. 

Keeler laughed at the half-hearted taunt.  “Doilies?  And what about you?  Ethan told us—told Jack and me you’re quite the cook.” 

“At least I don’t have to eat slop like this.  What’s in it?” 

“Vegetables and stew beef.”  Keeler paused, then added with a nasty smile, “Old vegetables.  Had to clean out the refrigerator before they rotted.” 

“Oh, good,” Cain grumbled, digging around in the thick gunk.  “ _What_ is _this_?” 

“A potato.” 

“It’s blue.” 

“Very good.  Do you also know your shapes and alphabet?” 

“Cyrillic and Roman,” Cain said snottily.  Keeler rolled his eyes.

They ate in total silence after that, Cain thinking up really clever snipes, Keeler looking down at the table with a tight, inscrutable expression.  Keeler ordered Cain to wash the dishes after, while Keeler put away the pot of miserable, congealing stew for another week of miserable suppers.  Cain decided to have Keeler eat at his place as soon as possible.  It would be the good deed of a lifetime. 

“So what information have you found?” Keeler asked at last, leaning against the wall beside the sink, arms crossed, watching Cain scrub away all traces of the offending meal.  “Or are you here to eat and fuck?” 

“Both of those, and I heard from Ptolemy, Seleucus, and Deimos today.” 

Keeler undid his braid.  “Goodness, you’ve been busy.” 

“Sent messages back, and I’ll speak to them this weekend.”  Cain looked at Keeler, who was redoing the braid with quick fingers.  “So that’s a lot of pending information.  Might get enough to supplement Jack’s number, and then we can do something.  You find anything?” 

Keeler pushed away from the wall, went into the main room, saying, “Nothing helpful.” 

Cain dried off his hands and followed him, frowning.  “Nothing?  You haven’t heard back from ever-prompt Puck?” 

“Cute.  I heard back from Puck and Oberon, yes.  From Puck, actually, but they’re joined at the hip.  We had a nice little chat.  _Sweetie_ ,” he mimicked Puck’s lighter voice unskillfully, “ _I’m glad to hear you’re doing well—I’d like us to be friends again—but Jack wants some space._   Space?  A year of space?  Fine, fucking fine. _I need to respect that.  He’s my friend too._   So, he’s ‘respecting’ this space by not giving me any information, including Jack’s address, which he has because he and Oberon arrange to meet with Jack and Ethan from time to time, whenever their shore leaves coincide.” 

Cain watched Keeler stalk around the room, staring out the window into the darkening dusk, then closing the blinds with a snap, resuming his agitated pacing.  “He told you all that?” 

“No.  I heard back from Cinna and Triton too, and they filled in what Puck didn’t say.  Cinna, still the biggest gossip in the solar system, told me Puck and Oberon have gotten married, and that they meet Ethan and Jack every now and then for dinner, not just on shore leave.  Triton, second-biggest gossip, confirmed my suspicion that Jack and Ethan—that they also—Cain, they—” 

Cain scowled.  “Just spit it out.” 

Keeler sat on the couch.  “Ethan and Jack got married four months ago.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.”  He got back up.  “You want something to drink?” 

“Yes.”  A gallon of vodka, thanks. 

— 

Keeler didn’t have vodka.  He had _really_ cheap—something.  It tasted like piss, and Cain told him so.  “You’re a fucking engineer, even if just for airplanes.  You can afford better.” 

Keeler poured himself another glass of the unknown liquor in the unmarked bottle.  “I have a lot of debt.  Try some more, you’ll get used to it.” 

“What’s in this?  Not much alcohol, seems.  It’s not strong enough.” 

“That’s why you have to drink _more_.  In order to get drunk.  How did you make it onto Bering’s team with the IQ of a tomato?” 

“What?” 

Keeler ignored him, sprawled on the couch next to Cain, his glass held loosely, balanced precariously on his knee.  “Can you fucking believe it?  They fucking _married_ , didn’t even tell us, didn’t even have anyone _else_ tell us,” he mumbled bitterly. 

“How come it wasn’t in the news?” Cain wondered. 

“Four months ago, so…January, I guess...they must’ve just ended their deployment,” Keeler said slowly.  “Maybe they did it on the space station.  Wonder where they were posted.” 

“But the newsfeeds didn’t say anything, and they had all that stuff about Ethan being a war hero—” 

Keeler snorted.  “You’re such a fucking idiot.  You were with Ethan for how long, and you never heard about his father’s stance on marriage equality?” 

“I _did_ know that, and I _also_ know the muckrakers are always looking for something to dig up about him.  So wouldn’t the wedding be perfect?  Senator Adams’ son’s gay wedding?”  Cain would have given a leg to be the one Ethan married.  He chewed at a hangnail until Keeler slapped his hand from his mouth.  “Come on,” he protested.  “No way the news would pass it up.” 

“But they _did_ , so obviously Jack and Ethan kept it _quiet_ ,” Keeler snarled.  “Don’t try to turn it into some conspiracy.  There’s no point and it pisses me off to listen to you whine.” 

Cain rearranged himself roughly on the couch, knocking his leg against Keeler’s.  Keeler managed to keep the shitty spirits from spilling, because what a tragedy that would have been. 

“Can’t fucking believe it,” Keeler muttered.  “They were together only a year or so.  Jack—we were together for three years, two deployments and the intervening year at the Colony One base.  Fuck, we started fucking less than a week after meeting.  It—it seemed so perfect.”  His voice dropped to a whisper.  “He wasn’t ever planning to marry me...was he?” 

Keeler whined on, so melodramatic, a thousand things to say, clearly had had all day to think over this new, horrible piece of information.  Cain sat quietly and thought about the newsfeeds, because he couldn’t face it yet like Keeler was, couldn’t ask aloud all the questions that hurt the most.  It was too new, a wound still in the making. 

The newsfeeds hadn’t said anything about Ethan getting married. 

Ethan had gotten married. 

To Jack. 

And hadn’t told Cain. 

“Baby, let’s fuck,” he said, putting his (somehow) empty glass on the arm of the couch and standing shakily.  Fucking was better than thinking.  Even if Keeler couldn’t get it up—seemed like he’d drunk more than enough of the bad liquor—they could make out.  He tugged at Keeler’s arm, took the glass and last sip of liquor away, tugged again. 

“Don’t wanna fuck you,” Keeler snapped, yanking his arm away.  “Want to fuck Jack, but he’s gone and married fucking _Ethan_.” 

“Forget about them, baby, shut the fuck up about them.  You’re gorgeous, so fucking _hot_ , I want to fuck _you_.”  For the first time, he really, truly meant it.  He didn’t want to think about Ethan and how fucking Keeler was different from or similar to fucking Ethan.  He only wanted to focus on Keeler.  “I’m gonna do you hard, bend your knees up to your shoulders, then I’m gonna make you lie flat and I’m gonna get off on your cock and watch you scream my name—” 

He pulled Keeler into the bedroom, who showed more interest now that Cain had announced they would switch, and they fell to the bed, twisting around each other, kissing and groping.  Got their clothes off, got Keeler spread under Cain, discovered they couldn’t get it up enough for fucking.

Liquor and nerves, Cain told himself.  More nerves than liquor. 

So they made out more, slowing a little, and finally they lay there, looking at each other.  Cain wondered if his expression was as deceitful as Keeler’s, blank with a little downturn at the corners of the mouth, brows level, hardly any emotion at all.  His eyes traveled Keeler’s face, the circles under his eyes, his sharp bone structure, pretty in his own way.  He blinked and looked at Keeler’s hand in surprise, now resting on his arm. 

Keeler took a breath, but didn't speak.  Silently they turned into each other’s arms. 

Keeler reached away for a moment.  _Click_.  The apartment disappeared into cold, silent darkness.  Keeler’s arm returned, curling around Cain, holding him close, strong and warm. 

Cain didn’t pray, but that night he gave wordless thanks for Keeler and this comfort.


	9. Chapter 9

_May 26_

Keeler might’ve cried or shaken during the night, Cain supposed, but he hadn’t heard or felt a thing out of the ordinary.  Keeler was restless as he slept sometimes, that was all; just a thing that happened.  Keeler didn’t need Jack and he’d realize it soon enough. 

Cain’s eyes were red and gummy, but he hadn’t cried either—it was that damned liquor, probably diluted moonshine at best, toilet cleaner at worst (the latter more likely, judging from the aftertaste that lingered still in Cain’s mouth).  His contacts needed to soak in saline solution for a little while, that was all.  He didn’t need to cry because Ethan decided to fucking marry someone else.  The newsfeeds liked to remind everyone that most marriages ended in divorce within five years.  So it wasn’t like Ethan had died or something, or like their relationship was more over than it had been before.  There was always a chance that Ethan would find his way back to Cain. 

And in the meantime he and Keeler splashed cold water on their red, dry eyes.  Cain left for work, tossing, “See you this evening, baby, my place,” over his shoulder.  He’d stuff Keeler with real, edible food and then they’d make out and fuck on the couch and it would be really hot.  Hotter than any sex Ethan and Jack were getting; married-sex was probably pretty boring. 

Ethan would be so jealous if he knew Cain was fucking Keeler.  Wouldn’t he? 

\-- 

They didn’t meet that evening after all.  Keeler sent a message— _Another day, I’m busy_ —which was probably a lie, unless he meant busy crying until his nose was runny, but Cain didn’t mind much.  He spent the night pacing his apartment, thinking about Ethan, thinking about the fucking wedding, thinking about what came next. 

Deimos.  He’d talk to Deimos as planned on Friday, squeeze everything about Ethan and Jack out of his rat.  It would feel good to know Deimos still had his back, Cain’s whisper-quiet mouse with his little knife, even if thousands of miles away.  Deimos would never abandon him. 

\-- 

_May 27_

Cain stepped inside the train station videochat booth and jerked the door a couple times before it snapped shut.  He was too tall for the awkward plastic stool, but he sat anyway, adjusting the video screen as it flickered and displayed the call menu, requesting payment. 

He hooked his cell phone to the videofeed wire dangling from the lower edge of the screen.  The damn thing was so glitchy the anti-gravity function didn’t work anymore, so the phone hung from the screen like a dead rat, if rats were phone-shaped.  He really needed to get a new phone—no point in keeping a phone that wouldn’t float when dropped and that randomly deleted old texts and that didn’t even have a reliable alarm. 

No point in keeping it even if he sometimes held it and thought about Ethan borrowing it, often leaving a little love note or stupid cat videos on the main screen, before their relationship had soured.  They had been planning to get a cat, were going to name it Gorby or something, but then the fucking engine project hit the news. 

He transferred enough yuan to the booth to cover a call, and opened the chat. Deimos answered right away. 

The space station videochat booth was unpainted metal, just the door handle outlined in orange, partially visible behind Deimos’ upper body.  Deimos smiled at him, wide enough to show his teeth, wider than Cain had ever seen from his rare smiles.  Still small, like a muscular Ethan, still somewhat pretty even with his heavy-lidded eyes and too-round face.  But Cain’s heart pounded and he felt his temperature rise.  He’d missed Deimos’ companionship. 

“Hey, Myshonok,” Cain greeted him in Russian.  He wished he had something to do with his hands, like smoke, just to help him feel casual.  This was just a quick chat with his rat, who also was a friend he hadn’t contacted in a year.  No big deal. 

His hands itched for a cigarette.  It wasn’t too late to relapse, but he didn’t have any cigs on him anyway. 

Deimos whispered his name, voice still raspy and weak as ever, but his grin remaining fixed and genuine on his face. 

“You heard I broke up with Abel,” Cain said abruptly, not sure how to start. 

Deimos nodded, his mouth twisting strangely, still a bit of a smile.  Cain wasn’t surprised—Deimos had never liked Ethan, never made a secret of it, just did what Cain wanted and helped to keep an eye on Ethan. 

“He married Encke around January.  You hear about that?” 

Deimos nodded again, slower, not smiling at all now. 

Cain scowled.  “How long have you known?  Why didn’t you fucking contact me?” 

“Just a month.  Heard it from Aeschylus.  Thought you didn’t want to talk to me,” Deimos rasped, then sat back a little and looked really fucking hurt.  That pissed Cain off, and suddenly he found something to do, cracking his knuckles and crossing his arms as he snarled. 

“Don’t assume, just fucking ask.  Just because I don’t call you doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear from you,” he snapped, and Deimos looked gratified at that. 

“What do you know about the wedding?” he asked when Deimos just sat there, pink-cheeked and pleased. 

“Twentieth of January.  Commander Marinus did the ceremony.  Oberon and Puck witnessed.”  Deimos took a breath to continue, then hesitated, glancing up at Cain through his eyelashes doubtfully. 

“What?” Cain said flatly. 

“Puck took a photo.  Aeschylus showed me.” 

Cain clenched his jaw.  “Get a copy for me.” 

Deimos nodded quickly. 

“You know anything else about Abel and Encke?  Where they live when they’re on leave?”  Deimos shook his head, and Cain let out a short, heavy sigh.  “Fine.  Just get me the wedding portrait.  How’re you doing?” he added after a moment. 

Deimos shrugged a little, slipped another smile across his face, just for a moment, just for Cain.  “Okay.  Miss you.” 

“Miss you too, Alyosha,” Cain grumbled.  “Keep your eyes open and fucking tell me when there’s something to tell.  Got it?  Let’s talk again soon.  Next weekend.” 

Deimos eagerly nodded, reaching a hand forward suddenly, as if he could touch Cain through the videofeed screen.  Cain reached forward too, but just to shut off the videochat.  He had to catch the next train.  They’d talk again. 

Maybe Deimos could visit on shore leave.  He’d fit on the couch, and the three of them could get drinks at Vanya’s and watch the races on the newsfeed, maybe play some cards.  Deimos liked Keeler, he was pretty sure, or at least was attracted to him.  Deimos tended to be attracted to assholes like Cain, and Keeler fit that role neatly. 

He detached his phone and clambered out of the booth, back into the train terminal.  The digital schedule suspended from the ceiling blinked and refreshed, warning him that the next F train was two minutes away. 

Rushing through the terminal, slapping the gates open with his subway pass, he tried not to think of Deimos on a space station far away, spinning through the stars, in many ways so much closer to Ethan and Jack than Cain. 

\-- 

_May 28_

Something strange settled into his stomach after the talk with Deimos.  The wedding, the wedding portrait, old friendships renewed, Keeler’s stubborn silence—all more than he wanted to think about.  Life had been so much easier before, with Ethan.  Get up, go to work at the hangar while Ethan went to work at the lab complex, return home, cook dinner, fuck, sleep, repeat.  Life had been simple and fucking perfect.  They had never thought much beyond their sweet little life, except when they started considering whether to adopt a cat, or when Ethan, worrying, brought up his impending redeployment without Cain as his fighter.  They lived in the present, in love. 

Change was a lot of fucking work.  It would pay off when he found Ethan and they got back together after Ethan divorced Jack.  Only a matter of time.  Probably they would start living together even before the divorce was finalized.  Might have to put up with seeing Jack from time to time if they had to work out visitation rights for any pets, but he could deal with that.  Cain was an adult, after all. 

With Keeler still moping alone Friday night, Cain turned his thoughts to his upcoming appointments with Hyun-woo and Sayid.  He spent longer getting his groceries than he realized on Saturday morning, and had to run from his apartment to the library slot a couple blocks away.  The slots were tiny but numerous compared to the few public library branches in the colonies, long, narrow, alley-shaped buildings with a row of e-book terminals on one side and public computers and video booths on the other.  Cain found a video booth at the back with a functioning door and shut himself inside five minutes after noon. 

Hyun-woo didn’t mind he was a little late.  They had a nice chat—about Hyun-woo’s deployment, Cain’s job at the hangar, life in space and in the colonies, old times, new times.  Hyun-woo was interested in hearing about Keeler, or, more specifically, Cain’s (romantic?) involvement with Keeler.  Cain let him think what he wanted, since Hyun-woo only mentioned the engine scandal briefly, and even then spoke with sympathy for Keeler’s fate as scapegoat.  Didn’t indicate that he knew Cain had taken part in the project, so that was good, at least. 

They’d been talking for half an hour before Cain realized he hadn’t brought up Ethan or Jack at all.  He sidled into it, aware of how awkward it sounded:  “It’s been nice to have Keeler around since Ethan left.”  Keeler was anything but nice, but whatever, it sounded good. 

Hyun-woo nodded a little.  “You know, I did hear something about that.  Heard Ethan was deployed without you, and then that you’d broken up.  Was it the distance?” 

“No, just—just didn’t work out.  We split before he was redeployed.  He’s with Jack now, you hear about that?” 

Hyun-woo was quiet for a moment, face knotting into a thoughtful frown.  “Maybe—I really haven’t kept track of Jack.  Is he still on the colonies?” 

Cain shrugged ambiguously.  “I think he’s back from a deployment.”  Couldn’t get another word out of his mouth about Ethan and Jack, about them being _married_ , because from the moment he had left Keeler’s apartment on Thursday morning he hadn’t spoken to anyone about the marriage.  Didn’t have anyone in Colony Five to talk to about it anyway, but wasn’t sure he could talk about it now, sober, with Hyun-woo or even with Keeler, without crying or something fucking stupid like that. 

So he let Hyun-woo talk at him for a few more minutes about some of their basic friends, making interested sounds while he felt his heart sink further into his stomach and sit there like a fucking rock, surrounded by all his uncomfortable feelings.  Then he tied off their conversation neatly, to let Hyun-woo finish off his lunch hour with some lunch, to let Cain run some errands before getting back to Keeler.  Good excuses, nothing more than excuses, but Hyun-woo bought it, signing off with a big grin and the promise of more calls. 

He’d enjoy that, he really would, but at that moment, Cain needed to escape back to his tiny apartment and dwell on Ethan. 

\-- 

_May 29_

His head pounded, so fucking hungover, stomach roiling with sourness.  Keeler had blown him off again, responded to his _Come over?_ on Saturday evening with _Fukc of_.  Cain, his heart set on getting thoroughly plastered and having someone listen to him talk about Ethan, called Keeler next, “Get your ass over here,” or something, and Keeler had replied, “Fuck _off_ , you fucking fuck,” only he sounded pretty drunk already. 

So he gave up and got smashed alone, thinking about Keeler drinking somewhere else, and woke up late Sunday morning with a head that felt so tight he thought if he moved his brain would squeeze out of his ears. 

Somehow he got his sorry ass down to the library slot again—mostly empty that morning, so he picked out a booth and spent a few minutes messing with his hair, hoping it didn’t look too fucked from a night spent sleeping on the couch at an odd angle. 

It did anyway.  “Busy night?” Sayid asked with a big, toothy grin.  “Heard from Hyun-woo you’re dating Keeler.  I’ve seen him drink, and he can _really_ hold his liquor.  Here’s a tip, don’t try to out-drink him again unless you decide you don’t need that liver of yours.” 

Cain glared, pretty sure he could feel the bags under his eyes drooping down his cheeks, pretty sure his skin was sallow and eyes bloodshot, absolutely sure now that his hair looked disastrous.  “Nice to see you again too.” 

\-- 

That night, Cain stared at his phone and chewed a hangnail. 

_Got some info, come over_.

He’d sent that text at one in the afternoon, hadn’t heard anything back from Keeler all fucking day.  Nor in reply to the five other texts he’d sent every couple of hours after. 

Was Keeler drunk?  Had he been drinking all day?  Had he gone to Vanya’s and picked up someone nameless to fuck in the bathroom so he could forget that Jack chose Ethan over Keeler in a very demonstrative manner?  Was he chickening out, backing out from their plan like a fucking coward? 

Cain called Keeler. 

“Pick up, you fucking fuck,” he muttered, and on the sixth ring, Keeler did. 

“What is it?”  Sour and nasty. 

“Did you see my texts?” 

“Yeah, what about them.”  Flat and mean, baiting. 

“Don’t be such a fucking asswipe.  Come to my place, I got some info, baby.” 

“Unless the news is that Jack kicked Ethan to the curb, I don’t wanna hear it, so fuck off.” 

“Get the fuck over here, Keeler.” 

Keeler was quiet for a moment.  “You’d better be naked,” he snarled, sounding so angry through the phone that Cain’s mouth dropped open a little in shock.  But Keeler hung up before he could snap back.


	10. Chapter 10

_May 29_

Well, he could take whatever Keeler threw at him, and if Keeler wanted a fight, he’d get a goddamn fight.  So Keeler was getting skittish and cowardly, now that he knew Jack was slightly less available and that Cain had some new information.  So what?  Keeler had started this plan, and Cain would fucking see it through.

He already had shucked his boots and jeans for the night, to give his toes and bits some air, but he pulled them back on and added a jacket over his shirt, just to be difficult and as not-naked as possible.  He waited by the door, his jaw jutting out stubbornly, ready for the confrontation.

Keeler landed only one knock before Cain had the door open, but he pushed his way inside as if he’d been stranded on the stoop for an hour.  “Thought I told you to be naked,” he snapped, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it on the couch.  He turned, strode back to Cain while stripping off his t-shirt too, tossing it to the floor behind him.

“Told _you_ I had some info.  Stop that—get your fucking hands off me.  You’re losing sight of the whole point of—of all this shit.”  Cain squirmed away, got Keeler’s hands out from under his jacket and shirt, and held him at arms’ length.

Keeler sneered, but stepped away from Cain to kick off his shoes.  “There _isn’t_ any point anymore, or didn’t you hear me when I told you they got married?  Pretty fucking solid relationship there, is my guess.  So, no, I don’t think there’s any point in trying to reach them!”

“Solid?  What the fuck is _solid_ about a marriage?”  Cain followed Keeler to the bedroom, baffled by Keeler’s pathetic concession.  “Marriage is a fucking financial contract.  Sure, bet they think it’s got all sorts of special meaning now, but in a year?  In two years?  Won’t mean a fucking thing to them when it fucks with their loan eligibility or whatever crap, and then you’ll want to be back in the running.”  Cain’s parents had been in the middle of a divorce when the apartment fire orphaned him, and from what Keeler had said about his mother, he doubted Keeler’s father was in the picture.  Keeler was deluding himself if he thought Jack and Ethan were a permanent couple just because of this stunt.

Keeler had only empty snark to throw back at Cain:  “Oh, so then you’ll want to get married to Ethan, because it’s so devoid of meaning, that makes sense.”  He stepped out of his jeans and underwear and onto the bed, turning to arrange himself with legs spread and bent.  But he wasn’t very hard, and his scowl was still ugly.

“I’d do it so no one else could.”  Cain stood in the doorway and crossed his arms.

Keeler’s lips twisted in disdain.  “Get over here and fuck me.  Don’t forget, you said we were going to switch.”  He stroked himself while continuing to glare up at Cain.

“ _Focus_ , Keeler, and listen the fuck up.  We’re gonna find them.”  Cain threw Keeler’s jeans at him, then dug into his own pocket for his phone.

Keeler kicked the jeans back to the floor, but sat up with a tired little sigh.  “How?”

“I got their address from Sayid, some suburb close to the city in Colony Three.  He says they’re between deployments.  And—this is—Deimos sent this, just a couple hours ago.”  He felt stupid showing Keeler the image on his phone after his “marriage is meaningless” speech, but it could be helpful to have a recent photo.

Keeler stared at the phone in Cain’s hands, took it slowly, studied the wedding photo without blinking.  Ethan and Jack smiled up at him, dressed smartly in their formal uniforms, the pale glint of their matching rings caught by the camera flash.

“They really did get married,” Keeler said quietly, cupping the phone in both hands.

“Whatever.  We’ve got their address and Jack’s phone number.  We know they look the same as of four months ago, so Puck hasn’t managed to dye Ethan’s hair yet.  We have _everything_ we need to find them.”  He braced his hands on the bed and bent over Keeler, close enough to kiss.  “This is _it_.  Next weekend.  Let’s go.”

“Cain, no—”

“Let’s do it, baby, this is our chance—”

Keeler didn’t meet his eyes or lips, and turned away just a little for a moment.  His scowl was gone, replaced by careful blankness.  He pressed the phone back into Cain’s hand.  “I don’t want to see them.”

Cain was fucking ready to fucking pull out his own fucking hair.  He shoved himself away from the bed and Keeler.  “ _What the fucking hell is wrong with you?_ ” he snarled.  “For a _month_ we’ve been trying to reach this point!  And at _your_ insistence!”

Keeler slapped his hands against the bed angrily.  “I _don’t want to see Jack_.  Okay!?  Did you hear that?  Do you understand that, Cain?—”

“I don’t fucking understand _why_ —”

“How about because I’m still paying for my fucking expensive replacement heart and surgeries, still in debt up to my fucking ears, and I don’t need to fucking _waste_ my fucking money and time chasing a _very clearly happy and married man_ , how about that?  How about I don’t need to waste my time _embarrassing_ myself in front of two people who think I’m worth shit?  How about—”

“How about I pay for your fucking cheap-ass ticket so you can get some fucking closure and so I can get some fucking Ethan?!” Cain exploded.  “So you can quit moping in your fucking apartment and we can fuck until they break up—”

“They’re not going to fucking _break up_ , not in a year, not in two years—”

“Then in three or four or five years and until then _we_ can fuck and adopt a cat or a parakeet or whatever the fuck you want!  We are _going_ , and do _not_ fucking—”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” Keeler screamed.

The occupant of the neighboring apartment thumped on the wall, through which they heard a muffled, “Shut the hell up!”

Cain threw a glare at the wall, but quieted, hissing with as much rage in his voice as he could muster, “This was _your_ idea in the first place and you are _not_ going to back down!”

Keeler looked at him stonily, face red and contorted with anger.  “I can if I fucking want to.  Give me _one_ good reason why I shouldn’t.”

Cain stared at him, his braid loosening, pale skin flushed, unhappy expression, unexcited dick, and suddenly he felt sorry for Keeler having lost Jack.  “Maybe you could apologize,” he mumbled finally.  “Maybe we both could.”

Keeler narrowed his eyes.  “The engine mission was _not_ my doing—you were at those meetings, you _know_ I argued to delay implementation—”

“I know,” Cain interrupted, even if privately he thought Keeler hadn't argued hard enough.  “But I bet they want to hear it.  I don’t care if you don’t mean it.  Might be the only thing to get them talking to us again.  Might be the first step towards—towards getting back—”  He stopped, entertaining a sliver of doubt that Ethan and Jack would divorce.

Whatever.  They could try.  They had to, or they’d always regret it.

“We’ve got to try, baby,” he said finally.

Keeler was still, silent and turned away, for several minutes.  Cain gave him space, left the bedroom to circle the apartment, picking up Keeler’s scattered clothes and piling them on a chair.  He returned to sit on the bed next to Keeler and started unlacing his boots, watching Keeler from the corner of his eye.

“Fine,” Keeler muttered.  “I’ll go if you buy the ticket.  I really do have a lot of debt,” he added with a miserable smile, finally looking at Cain.

“Expensive surgeries, huh.”

“Yeah, the ones before the Alliance, and the heart itself and the long hospital stays.  And Mom couldn’t afford insurance, and she doesn’t make much money, so…we’ve got about ten more years of payments.”

“Okay, baby.”  Cain stripped, satisfied with whatever Keeler wanted so long as he came along.  No fucking way was Cain doing this alone, facing Ethan’s disappointed or unloving face, and Jack’s disapproval.  Or their disgust.

He shook himself free from those thoughts.  He had all week to be uncomfortable, imagining the long-awaited confrontation.  “Let’s fuck,” he said instead.

Keeler turned into his arms, turning his face up for a kiss.  “Ready to bottom from the bottom?”

Cain shoved Keeler flat and straddled him.  “As if, asshole.”

\--

Just that day, mere hours earlier, Cain had thought idly that he’d never have Keeler top him (technically), because they were finally on the way to meeting Ethan and Jack again.  Why bother when he’d probably have Ethan back eventually?  But he couldn’t quiet the doubts whispering in his head, that perhaps Ethan and Jack would be married for years, or perhaps they would be married for the rest of their lives.  Or perhaps they would be _together_ for years, married or not.

Well, that was different.  Cain was fucking done with putting his life on hold for Ethan.  He’d do what he could to get Ethan back, but he’d hedge his bets too.  He had to show himself that bottoming wasn’t something he did only with Ethan—something he _had done_ only with Ethan.  He could enjoy fucking other people, and Ethan could go fuck himself until he was ready to return to Cain.

He breathed deeply, sinking down, down for an interminable length of time, adjusting around Keeler.  It had been a long time.  Still felt good, felt full and exciting.  He shut his eyes, then forced them open again, made himself look down at Keeler and know that this wasn’t Ethan; it was Keeler, and it felt fucking wonderful.

Wonderful and hot, with Keeler pink-faced, lips red and swollen from kissing.  He gripped Cain’s thighs, rubbed them as he panted and shifted under Cain.

“Feel good, baby?” Cain managed on a sigh.

“Yes—fuck, _yes_ —” Keeler groaned, hands moving up to Cain’s hips, his stomach and chest, down again to his cock, stroking it to full hardness.

Cain gasped, hips thrusting into Keeler’s grip, and again when Keeler ran his thumb over the slick, sensitive head.  Keeler bucked up, fast and short strokes, making up with passion what he lacked in technique.  Cain leaned back a little—just so—and Keeler’s erratic movements rubbed Cain’s prostate deliciously.

Cain jerked himself roughly, seeing Keeler was close, and then Keeler’s face slackened as he came hard inside Cain, groaning.  Cain groaned too, rocked his hips faster and tightened around Keeler’s cock, came moments later marveling at Keeler’s sweat-streaked hair and panting breaths, all of him beautifully exerted.  He covered Keeler with his body, kissing deeply, and moved to spoon against Keeler’s side, moaning as he felt Keeler’s softened cock slip from him.

“That was good.  But you need more practice,” Cain said into his hair.

“Yeah, let’s work on that,” breathed Keeler, reaching down to pat Cain’s rear.

\--

“So,” Cain mumbled a little while later, his arms wrapped around Keeler and petting his snarled hair.

“Hm,” Keeler grunted in reply.

“So what happens if you fall asleep while we’re doing it again?”

“I didn’t, was wide awake—”

“Meant some other time.”

Keeler craned his head to look at Cain with a sly, sideways smile, just a bit mocking.  “Thought you were gonna be hitched to Ethan this time next week.”

Cain couldn’t summon the energy to scowl.  “Let’s say maybe I give you a pity fuck before my wedding because Jack dumps your sorry ass again.  You fall asleep.  What do I do?”

Keeler shifted back to his side, pressing his rear into Cain sleepily.  “Asshole.  You could stop, or you could keep going.  Whatever you want.  I don’t mind either way.”

“Whatever I feel like?”

Keeler shrugged.  “Whatever you’re comfortable with doing.  Jack—he preferred to stop, finish by himself.  Happens a few times a year maybe, and never a long sleep anyway.”  He yawned so wide his jaw cracked audibly.

“Don’t you just want to take your stimulants again, stop falling asleep randomly?”

“Side effects mess with my real sleep, so I don’t get the meds refilled much anymore.  Can’t afford to miss a good night’s sleep too often.  Look, it’s up to you what you do.  I don’t mind.”

Cain pillowed his head against Keeler’s neck and golden hair, mulling over Keeler’s revelation about the stimulant medication, and the choice he presented to Cain.  “Okay.  Guess I’d stop too,” he said finally.  It seemed the most comfortable thing to do, for him, even if Keeler didn’t care—having sex with a sleeping partner didn’t sound like much fun.

Keeler hummed a little, and Cain felt it through his ribs, quiet and comforting.  “Okay.  Can talk about it more whenever you want.”

“Sure,” he whispered back, feeling as sleepy as Keeler sounded.

Surely their relationship was temporary.  Surely he’d end up with Ethan again, somehow, and Keeler with Jack, or someone else.  But in the meantime, it didn’t hurt to know Keeler a little better.

Felt pretty nice, anyway.

\--

Cain awoke in the middle of the night, still pressed against Keeler, who slept soundly and deeply.  He slid from the bed and crept into the main room, shutting the bedroom door behind him, just as he had a month ago in Keeler’s apartment.

He flicked on the desk lamp by his computer, illuminating the whole room dimly, giving him just enough light to rifle through Keeler’s bag.  There were the empty medicine bottles again, and the folders full of schematics, and the computer key, and Keeler’s subway pass.

He took the card to his desk and read it while the computer booted up.  Keeler’s full legal name and transit number were scratched up from so many uses of the card, but still legible.  Perfect.  He logged onto the colonial public transportation webfeed and purchased two roundtrip maglev tickets to Colony Three for Saturday, the fourth of June.  He carefully punched in Keeler’s transit number, followed by his own, and entered his credit information. _Submit._ He chewed a hangnail as the confirmation slowly loaded.

_Transactions completed.  Tickets valid on June 4 at C5 Central Terminal Platform 10 and C3 Central Terminal Platform 8._

The webfeed next spat out the maglev schedule for that day, which Cain sent to his phone.  He shut down the computer and stuck Keeler’s subway pass back inside his bag.

They were ready.  They were going to do this.

Just in case, though, he’d spend the night before with Keeler, and he’d fucking drag him to the Central Terminal if necessary.


	11. Chapter 11

_June 3_

His phone beeped, displaying a text from Keeler.  _On my way.  Dinner had better be good after all that talk._

Cain rolled his eyes and turned off the stove heat under the fresh pot of borscht.  They’d fucked several nights that week, at Keeler’s place mostly, but otherwise Keeler had avoided acknowledging him.  No drinking, no talking about Saturday, just fucking and falling asleep.  Cain had wondered if Keeler would chicken out on Friday night, have a panic and hide in his apartment like a wimp who’d rather be miserable than find some closure. 

Cain doubted his own ability—a little, just a fucking little—to get on the train Saturday morning if Keeler wasn’t with him.  And he didn’t stop doubting their plans until Keeler walked through his door. 

\-- 

Half an hour later, Cain watched Keeler swallow the last of the roasted grains and try more of the soup.  He’d eaten everything—vegetables, meat, grains—with hardly a change in his sour expression.  Cain began to think Keeler was not only a bad cook, but also a bad eater.  “So?  Pretty good, right?” he tried. 

Keeler shrugged, decidedly unimpressed.  “I guess.  I’ve had better.  The texture of the meatballs is weird.  And if the borscht stains my teeth pink, I’ll be very upset.” 

Cain scowled at him.  “Good, exactly what I had planned,” he snapped, just to be an asshole. 

Keeler sneered nastily and bent sideways in his chair to dig around in the backpack he’d brought.  He reemerged with a toothbrush and, not saying a word or even looking at Cain, went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

“Glad you liked the meal, you’re welcome, anytime, et cetera, ungrateful louse,” Cain grumbled under his breath.  Under that blank expression Keeler had barely hidden a foul mood, which Cain had to put up with all night and all the way to Colony Three.  Maybe, if he was exceptionally lucky, he could just drop off Keeler with Jack and bring back Ethan instead. 

\-- 

_June 4_

Keeler whined as they took their seats on the maglev train.  “Thanks a fucking lot,” he growled in Cain’s ear.  “Now I have to sit here in pain the whole way.” 

“ _You_ were the one who said ‘harder’ like five times,” Cain hissed back.  “And we’ve done it way, way harder than that before, so quit fussing.  I’m on to you.” 

“You’re so fucking mean, Cain.  Don’t presume to know how I feel.  It hurts more than usual this time—” 

“Don’t try to worm your way out of this.  Here.”  Cain stood again and tugged and pulled and pushed until Keeler was squished against the window, scowling and surly.  Cain took the aisle seat and flung his long legs out, trapping Keeler in his seat.  He doubted Keeler would try to run, but if he—Keeler, who proved fonder of rough sex than even Cain—was whining about aches after keeping Cain up half the night and then making them nearly miss the train, well…Cain wasn’t putting much past Keeler. 

The train hummed and whirred, then started smoothly down the track to Colony Three.  Cain shut his eyes against Keeler’s grouchy muttering, trying to focus his thoughts on Ethan.  They’d go to the address provided by Sayid, see if Ethan would talk to him.  He would, Cain just knew it, he’d probably invite them in for lunch, and they’d sit around a table and try to have a conversation, the four of them.  Cain would apologize, Keeler would probably start a fight with Jack and eventually scream some sort of apology, and then while Keeler and Jack ran off to have spontaneous sex, Cain would try to win over Ethan too. 

Except maybe Ethan was already won over, by Jack, and Jack by him. 

Certainly sounded like it, anyway. 

 He opened his eyes to look out the window, and noticed Keeler, no longer in the throes of his grand whine, turning the pages of a small book.  The cover cheerfully proclaimed that Colony Three boasted many attractions, fine cuisine, and vibrant Martian culture.  

Cain’s mouth dropped open, and he grabbed the book to flip through all the dog-eared pages.  “You brought a fucking guidebook?  We’re not here on vacation,” he said incredulously. 

“Just in case we back out.  Don’t want to make it a wasted trip.”  Keeler grabbed for the book, but Cain held it out of reach. 

“Oh, yeah?  You planning on backing out?” he needled Keeler, scowling harshly.  Knew it.  He’d fucking known this would happen.  But he had to admire Keeler’s cleverness, finding ways to avoid Jack and Ethan even in Colony Three itself. 

“No, I just—” 

Cain scoffed and shoved the book back into his hands.  “Just want to stall, right, like an idiot?  Fine.  Let’s do your sightseeing.  A couple hours, then we’re going to find Ethan.”  Maybe he also needed a couple hours to steel his nerves, but Keeler needed it more, coward that he was. 

Keeler returned his glare and reopened the guidebook.  And after a few more minutes, still a quarter hour from Colony Three, Cain put his arm on the back of Keeler’s seat and leaned against him to read over his shoulder.  Maybe he could convince Keeler to keep the itinerary short. 

\-- 

“First we’ll visit City Hall.  It’s there.”  Keeler pointed across the street at the pillar-lined building. 

Cain looked at it.  “Great, pretty cool.  I’ll get a picture with my phone.  What’s next?” 

“Don’t be an ass,” Keeler called to him, already starting down the steps from the train station to the crosswalk at street-level.  “Come on, inside it has murals dating from the late 2200s.” 

“Please don’t make me,” Cain groaned under his breath, but he had to keep track of Keeler, so he followed and suffered through Keeler reading aloud way too much uninteresting information about the history of City Hall and its murals of Earth and Mars. 

Then Keeler moved them down the street to the old clock tower, where he had Cain pay fifty yuan apiece for the privilege of climbing more than four hundred steps to the top for a view of the city because the fucking elevator was broken.  The panorama was beautiful, Cain admitted, and on such a clear day they could see out to the suburbs and, though distant, to the far edges of the colony’s biodome, and through that the hazy red mountains.  But he didn’t see why they couldn’t have taken a functioning elevator to the top of a skyscraper a mile away in downtown (and for free). 

“The clock tower was built in 23something by the famed astroarchitect Something Something, modeled after the ancient clock tower in Somewhere Else,” Keeler droned on, and Cain tuned him out.  He shoved aside a couple of kids from one of the observation telescopes and peered through the glass.  The little apartment buildings and houses of the northeastern quadrant jumped forward, right up to his eye, seeming so close he imagined he could reach out and touch them—reach out and pull up the rooftops, squint inside the tiny buildings to look for Ethan. 

He glanced at his phone to verify Ethan’s address.  Turned out Ethan actually lived in the southern quadrant.  Cain crossed the deck to the southern viewing windows and again made a telescope available to himself.  He could hear Keeler trailing behind him, still nattering on about the tower, sounding way more excited than any normal person would be about a tall, square building with giant newsfeeds set in its walls. 

He wished he knew the streets below.  His phone showed a map marking Ethan’s home, but staring down at the busy city from the tower was very different from reading a tidy, labeled map.  Somewhere down there was Ethan, though.  Maybe he could see the clock tower from where he was.  Maybe he’d glance up at it to check the time and the news, maybe he’d think of Cain—

“Cain, pay attention.  We’re going.  Cain!”  Keeler whacked him on the ass with the guidebook.  Cain yelped and dodged another swat. 

“Come on,” Keeler said again, smirking, and they started down the long staircase.  Cain made Keeler go first so he couldn’t try anymore swats. 

\-- 

They walked partway around the outside of the Colony Three Stadium, which was much nicer than the stadium in Colony Five, but still just a stadium, in Cain’s opinion, and they crossed a park to the Field of Mars.  The parade ground was filled with colonists cavorting in the sun, playing games in middle of the field, picnicking on the sloping sides.  Keeler read out the guidebook’s blurb and snapped a few photos with his phone, while Cain found a food cart and bought some sandwiches for their lunch. 

“Ready to put the plan in action?” he asked, trying not to sound surly and desperate, as they finished their food on the grass. 

Keeler’s face was buried in the fucking book again, thumbing through the pages.  “We still need to see the Mars Rover Monument and the cathedral with the famous stained glass window.” 

“We don’t have all fucking day,” Cain reminded him, “and we don’t _need_ to see them.” 

“Well, I _want_ to see them, and unless you want to go find Ethan and Jack on your own, you’re gonna have to come along.” 

“Fucking hell, Keeler, I’m not here as a damn tourist.  Where are these places?” 

Keeler twisted around to point back at the midtown area.  “Cathedral’s right there, with the spires, and the monument is two blocks behind it.  We can even catch the fucking bus to the southern quadrant from there,” he added with a sneer. 

Cain stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth to stifle a sigh.  “Fine, but give me a break with the fucking guidebook already,” he said through his chewing, spraying Keeler with crumbs. 

Keeler wrinkled his nose in displeasure and turned away.  “No.”

Still chewing, Cain got to his feet and pulled Keeler up with him.  “Come on,” he mumbled.  “Let’s go see this stuff.” 

Keeler crammed the last of his sandwich into his mouth too, leaning in close to Cain, as if to kiss Cain’s cheek.  “Yeah, let’s go see this _stuff_ ,” he said, purposefully spitting crumbs into Cain’s hair. 

\-- 

They mounted the steps to the big cathedral doors, sunk into the wall in a saint-filled recess, found them locked or stuck, and circled around the side of the building, craning their necks to stare at the Mars-red statues gazing down at them from steel-frame alcoves.  They found a side door, smaller and open, and slipped inside. 

They were in a side aisle of the narthex, and also in the middle of a procession.  An incense bearer—they smelled her before they saw her—nearly brained Keeler with the swinging censer.  Keeler yelped and stumbled back into Cain, who pulled him towards the front doors and out of the way. 

Cain coughed a little until the clouds of incense cleared, and then peered down the dim length of the cathedral.  “There’s the glass you wanted to see,” he reminded Keeler, gesturing to the rose window high above the altar.  He had to admit the window was pretty, all blues and greens, like the mosaic of Earth set in the floor of the clock tower. 

“Nice,” Keeler said, sounding bored, but he took a photo of the window with his phone before turning back to the door.  “Let’s go.  Monument’s next.” 

They hurried down the steps to the street again.  Keeler guided them a couple blocks to the memorial, where a thick, clear dome sealed a square quarter mile’s worth of Mars Rover tracks for perpetuity.  They joined the throngs crowding the circular viewing deck, Cain elbowing tourists aside so that he and Keeler could squeeze into a space by the railing. 

“Wow,” Keeler said, awed, his voice reduced to a whisper in the noisy crowd.  “Look how red the ground is.  How deep the tracks…”  He shuffled around until he was pressed against Cain’s side, pulled Cain’s arm until he turned too, so that their backs were to the dome.  “Smile,” he commanded, holding his phone up in front of them. 

Cain snorted.  “Bossy,” he muttered in Keeler’s ear, but he slung an arm around Keeler’s shoulders and smiled. 

Keeler took several shots so that the picture was just so—tracks visible, his hair perfect, Cain’s smile broad enough.  And then he couldn’t stall any longer when Cain gripped his hand firmly and led the way through the crowd to the bus stop across the street.

\-- 

Twenty minutes on the bus—pretty convenient, Cain thought, until they got off the bus and had to walk for another fifteen.  Who in their right mind would live so far from a bus line to the main city?  Ethan and Jack, apparently.  Maybe Ethan’s mother finally had shipped his motorbike to him.  Cain had only seen a picture of it, sleek and expensive, with a hover function and a fancy engine that ran on pixie dust and rainbows or something environmentally-friendly like that. 

They passed the narrow street, had to backtrack to double-check the street sign against the address in their phones.  They turned down the street, slowing their walk without speaking, reading the numbers of the townhouses as they passed.  Trees lined the cracked sidewalks, their spreading roots warm and dark, their leaves vibrantly green, and patches of yard and flowerboxes in front of the houses brightened the dull buildings. 

“Pretty,” Keeler whispered after a few minutes, his murmur muffled in the rustling of the short trees and the fullness of their boughs. 

“Here,” Cain whispered, tugging Keeler’s hand to stop him. 

Number 122, apartment C.  They stopped at the head of the walk, looked up at the Mars-red building, its pretty brickwork at the cornices, its window boxes sagging with plants in various states of survival, its windows’ secrets hidden by curtains. 

Which part of the building was apartment C?  Did it have the little round window below the pointed roof?  Was it around back, facing the alley instead of the street?  Had Ethan stood at the head of the walk too, with Jack, looking at the building and thinking, _Is this my new home?_

Had Ethan looked at the building and not thought of Cain at all?  Had he already made the turn in his life, away from Cain, towards Jack? 

Cain was still turning from his life with Ethan. 

But standing there, staring at Ethan’s home, he understood with the greatest clarity that he _was_ turning—that he had to.  Slowly, away from Ethan.  Slowly, with Keeler, towards something new. 

He looked at Keeler, admired his golden hair under the greenness of the leaves, studied his closed expression. 

Keeler looked at him, looked away quickly.  “This was a stupid idea.” 

“Come on.  Eric,” he said solemnly, “we can do this.”  Keeler stared at him, eyes round with surprise to hear Cain’s grave tone and his given name. 

Cain took Keeler’s hand firmly in his own, pleased to feel Keeler grip his hand in return, just as strong.  They walked the pretty brick walk, waited awkwardly on the stoop while Cain buzzed for 122C. 

And buzzed, and buzzed, until Keeler yanked on his hand.  “Give it up.  They’re not here,” he said tiredly. 

“Fucking hell,” Cain muttered. 

“So what now?  Wait here until they come back?”  Keeler sounded like he would do it, and wasn’t that just perfect, that _now_ Keeler was willing to go to whatever lengths to find Ethan and Jack, now when Ethan and Jack weren’t where they were supposed to be after all this fucking effort. 

They could wait.  They _probably_ could wait there for Ethan and Jack.  They were in the colony.  They had to come back to sleep sometime. 

But… “No,” Cain decided, reason winning.  “We’d better get out of here before someone calls the cops—or tries to sell us a fancy apartment,” he added, trying to relieve the sudden heaviness in his stomach. 

Keeler seemed to catch on, linking their fingers together as they started back up the street.  “They’re not _that_ fancy, they _can’t_ be.  Didn’t you see how warped the shutters were, and the bad patching on the roof?  Bet the attic leaks.”

“Hope it leaks on their bed.” 

“Hope it makes them feel like they have to piss constantly.” 

They laughed.  Keeler glanced back at the townhouse, said ruefully in a very quiet voice, “I hope they’re happy.”  Sounded like he meant it.  Almost. 

“Yeah,” Cain said, quick and brief, mostly meant it too, and that was all they needed to say on the subject.

\--

_(Dear Readers:_

_One more chapter follows, in which Cain and Keeler run into Ethan and Jack.  And then there is a Special Alternate Ending with large theropods.  I know you are SO EXCITED about that._

_Yours faithfully,_

_chollarcho)_


	12. Chapter 12

They stepped off the bus on the other side of the Central Terminal, opposite City Hall’s street, where a wide plaza boasted an array of food carts and street vendors.  Colonists bustled around the plaza, eating, shopping, and enjoying the day, all looking enviably happy from the perspective of Cain’s floundering mood. 

Seeing Ethan’s home had been worth something, a sliver of closure, but not what Cain really wanted.  A few minutes to see him, to see if they still had that romantic spark he thought of so often, to see if he was content with Jack.  He was reluctant to get back on the train with so much wondering and longing in him still. 

“Got anymore sightseeing you want to do?” he asked Keeler, after they’d stood on the edge of the plaza for a few minutes, watching the crowds shift and drift. 

“Not really.  No,” Keeler said softly.  “I—well, are you hungry again?  Or do you want to leave now?” 

Cain shrugged, unwilling to leave but knowing how little good it would do to stay.  “Got time to kill,” he said at last, and he took Keeler’s hand to lead him into the maze of vendors.  He walked slowly, looking at the goods and souvenirs for sale without really seeing them.  He could feel only Keeler’s hand clasped tightly in his, and he thought for a moment that he could hear only the rustle of Keeler’s hair as he turned his head this way and that to glance around. 

And in his guts, he felt a heaviness that hadn’t moved since he had realized Ethan wasn’t at home.  He fought the impulse to drag Keeler back to the bus, go back to Ethan’s home on its pretty street to wait on the stoop until Ethan came to find him. 

No.  Fuck that.  He wasn’t some fucking lost puppy, some lovesick idiot who’d wait forever, eternally foolish.  He had Keeler now.  Keeler was nasty and acerbic, but less so in the past couple weeks; Keeler understood the dullness of Cain’s life, grounded and lonely; Keeler was someone new and interesting, and simultaneously familiar enough for ease.  For whatever reason, Cain _liked_ Keeler, and liked having him around.  Yes, he had Keeler, and probably would have him for a while, unless Keeler decided this was the end of their collaboration and everything else that they had become. 

“So, what happens now?” he asked suddenly, tugging on Keeler’s hand, because he realized he wasn’t sure _what_ they had become. 

But Keeler ignored him, stood transfixed, stared straight ahead down the row of vendors towards a section of concrete tables and benches.  “They’re here.” 

“What?”  But he knew, right away. 

Keeler pointed anyway, his hand trembling minutely.  “That’s them.  Right there, at the tables, see?  With the dodo.” 

Ethan’s hair was so bright and warm, white-gold, and his smile was so broad when Jack said something to him with a laugh.  He leaned forward on the bench to hug the dodo standing by their table, and then he said something, and Jack replied, and then Ethan, and Jack, and the dodo honked, and they laughed again— 

Cain tried to swallow, tried to wet his dry mouth, tried to calm his painfully thudding heart and the color burning his cheeks.  _Fuck_ Ethan for being so happy, for having a partner and someone to talk to so easily and a cute pet, for having _everything_ Cain had wanted with him, but without Cain. 

“Let’s go,” he heard Keeler say, dimly, and, feeling as though he were dreaming, he took a step towards Ethan and Jack, before realizing that Keeler was moving in the opposite direction, out of the plaza and towards the station. 

“Keeler.  _Eric_ ,” Cain snapped, whirling to follow him.  But Keeler was fast, slipping through the crowds and halfway up the station steps before Cain caught up to him, caught his arm and yanked him around hard.  “Eric, where the _fuck_ are you going?” 

“I’m going home,” Keeler spat, “so let go of me.” 

“Don’t fucking do this,” Cain pleaded, struggling to bring him down the steps, holding him close.  “We’ve come all this way, done so much to get ourselves in the right place—we _have_ to do this.  If we don’t speak to them now, that’ll be it.  There won’t be another chance.”  Not for a long time, at least, though Cain didn’t know if he’d ever have the foolish courage to do this again.  He gripped Keeler’s arms, tight and hard, made Keeler meet his intense gaze.  “Be brave.” 

“ _I am_ ,” Keeler snapped, looking away, looking down.  “I—I’ll try to be.  Genya, I’m not ready for this—” 

“You are.  I am.  We both are.  Come on.”  When Keeler hesitated still, Cain growled and yanked him down the last step, back onto the sidewalk.  “Do _not_ fucking make me drag you back—fuck’s sake, you were lead navigator for fifty flight teams.  You gonna tell me you can’t handle Jack and Ethan?  Because that’s a fucking lie.” 

“You’re shitty at motivating,” Keeler snarled.  “You can’t do this alone, is that it?” 

“Just hurry the fuck up, before they leave.” 

They marched back to the plaza, Cain keeping his hold on Keeler’s elbow in case he chickened out again.  His heart pounded in his chest louder than before, so loud he could hear his blood in his ears.  He worried:  How much time did they have left?  Would Jack and Ethan already be gone? 

But they weren’t.  They were still at the table, the remains of a salad spread before them, their dodo honking and clucking at Cain and Keeler’s approach. 

Ethan looked up, and his expression made Cain want to sprint back to the station, with or without Keeler.  “Yevgeny?” he said, voice shocked, eyebrows raised and skeptical, no smile, no laugh, nothing welcoming. 

“Ethan, hi,” Cain said crisply, pathetically grateful that his voice sounded strong and unconcerned.  “Here’s Eric too,” who stared fixedly at a point over their heads.  Cain glanced at Jack, then back at Ethan, unsure what to make of their bemused faces. 

“Are you visiting Colony Three?” Ethan asked carefully. 

“Sightseeing.  We hit all the big tourist spots, the clock tower and monument and shit.”  Suddenly Cain was glad Keeler had dragged him all over town, so that he had a good story, a true story, for Ethan.  Keeler and he didn’t look like idiots who chased down their exes, and it wasn’t a lie that they had toured the city.  Cain tugged Keeler closer, wasn’t sure why he put an arm around him, but at least Keeler brought his eyes down, looked at the dodo.  “Saw you and wanted—” 

“To apologize,” Keeler interrupted.  “For—for everything.”  He blushed brightly, his pale eyebrows white against his skin, his cheeks and eyes reddening until he blinked and looked down at the ground.  “Ethan.  I’m sorry for endangering you during the engine project.  Sorry I never really told you I was sorry.  And, Jack—”  He stopped, bit his lips. 

Jack stared at him, silent with narrowed eyes, mouth pressed into a stern line. 

“Jack, I—” 

“Yeah?” Jack said, finally, low and inscrutable. 

Keeler pulled away from Cain’s arm, made a funny step to the side, as if he wanted to move forward but couldn’t.  “I already apologized to you.”  Keeler’s voice started steady and neutral, then broke, became thin and bitter, nasty like he was picking a fight with Cain, but without his usual confidence.  “I apologized to you more than a year ago, and I’m still waiting for you to acknowledge it,” he snapped.

“Acknowledge it?  I can hear you loud and clear,” Jack replied, sounding so very calm compared to Keeler’s discomposure.  “I’ll even forgive you—hell, I already have.  But I won’t accept your apology.  Too little, too late.” 

“Fucking hell,” muttered Keeler, starting to turn away, pausing when Cain took his arm and pointed him back to the table. 

Jack stood, nodding at something Ethan whispered in his ear.  From Ethan’s tight expression and the way he avoided looking at Keeler, Cain could tell he hadn’t fully forgiven the betrayal of his superior’s conspiracy and silence. 

“Eric.  Let’s talk.  Five minutes,” Jack snapped, gesturing a few tables over.  Keeler nodded sullenly and followed him, and his mean look made Cain wonder if Keeler would follow through with his threat to spit in Jack’s face. 

He looked back at Ethan, who stared after them still, absently petting the dodo.  “Cute bird,” Cain mumbled. 

“Her name is Holly,” Ethan said after a moment, glancing at Cain.  “Um, Genya—” 

“I’m sorry about the fucking engine crap and for lying to you and not getting you out of it before the mission,” Cain blurted, and scrubbed a hand over his face.  “Sorry.  Really fucking sorry.  Just wanted you to know.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Ethan said, so quietly that Cain thought he hadn’t heard correctly. 

He sat, batted the curious dodo beak away from him, gave Ethan a hard look.  “Sorry?  What’re you sorry for?” 

Ethan blinked at him, like he’d asked something dumb about something obvious.  “For cutting you off—I’ve thought about it a lot, and I guess I was scared I wouldn’t be able to start over without you, unless I never heard from you again.  But that’s silly, isn’t it?  At least, I think so now.” 

Cain swallowed hard.  Why did Ethan always have to be sweet and gentle?  It just made everything feel worse, especially when Cain wasn’t so sure Ethan had been wrong—could he have let Ethan go, had Ethan stayed in contact, no matter how infrequent?  He doubted himself. 

And he wondered if this meant Ethan had missed him, but he was too fucking scared to ask.  Sweet and gentle could be honest, but superficial as well—didn’t have to be love, at any rate. 

“Whatever,” he managed.  “Turned out okay for you.  Got Jack.” 

“And I’m sorry for not telling you about that.  We’re—we got—" 

“Married, I know.  Deimos said.” 

Ethan laughed a little.  “Should’ve known he’d find out and tell you.  Still, I’m sorry.  You and I, we were very close…”  He trailed off, shrugged, left it at that, and Cain was glad.  He’d heard enough of Ethan’s “we’ve been close, but we’re drifting apart” bullshit during their counseling sessions, as if saying it enough would make it true. 

And it hadn’t been true then, not for Cain, but it might be true for him now, he allowed.  He looked at Ethan and knew he was beautiful, remembered how much he had loved him, but didn’t feel the urgent want he had expected to feel.  The heaviness in his gut began to ease as he recalled the slow death of their relationship, how hard he had fought it, how long it had taken for the pain to fade. 

What did he want from Ethan?  What could he have from him?  If the sum of their relationship had been happiness followed by slow and bitter parting, would he really be willing to engage it again, and undo time’s dulling of that pain? 

Not that it mattered, he told himself, watching Ethan’s ring gleam in the sunlight. 

“Maybe we can be friends someday,” he said finally.  He glanced over his shoulder at Keeler, looked back at Ethan, and was surprised to admit to himself that he was okay with Ethan…not being with him.  Jack and Ethan would be fine, perhaps.  And Cain had Keeler. 

“I’d like that.  With—with both of you,” Ethan added slowly, and Cain wondered if he _could_ be friends with Keeler.  “You’re really with Keeler now?”

“Pretty much.”  For the moment, anyway. 

“In September there’s going to be a reunion for the _Sleipnir_ mission crew in Colony One, did you hear?  Maybe we’ll see you there.”  And Ethan looked at him with warmth and hopefulness, and Cain remembered what he had loved most about him. 

“Absolutely,” he said, and Ethan let him shake his hand.  “You ever want bad alcohol and a good meal, we’re in Colony Five,” he added, and stood.

“Sure.”  Ethan’s slight smile made no promises, and then Holly honked, alerting them to Jack and Keeler’s return. 

Keeler walked a little behind Jack, pretending to watch the vendors at their tents, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets.  Tense and subdued, he came to stand beside Cain, and again fixed his eyes on the dodo. 

“We’re square now,” Jack declared, sounding a bit apologetic as he glanced at Keeler and then met Ethan’s eyes. 

“Made up?” Ethan prompted, with a half-hearted, sweet little smile. 

“Sure.  Close enough,” said Jack. 

“Close enough,” echoed Keeler, distant and light.  He stepped forward and offered his hand to Ethan; they shook reservedly.  “It’s good to know you’re well,” he said evenly, to which Ethan nodded. 

Keeler probably didn’t completely mean it, Cain figured, and he wondered what Jack and Keeler had spoken about.  He’d ask on the train—they were done here.  Cain had admitted to himself that he was well and truly rejected, and that he didn’t want to try again.  He trusted and hoped that Keeler felt the same. 

“We gotta go,” he said, taking Keeler’s hand and lacing their fingers together.  Ethan and Jack noticed, looked at their hands expectantly, like they expected a pair of rings to appear there too.  Cain snorted.  “See you at the reunion, maybe.”  He’d go even if Keeler ended whatever they were doing.  And he wouldn’t go to see Ethan and Jack—he’d go to see Alyosha, Lucas, Sayid, Hyun-woo… 

He looked up in surprise as Jack grasped his free hand and shook it firmly, saying, “Thanks for coming by.  Have a good trip back.” 

Cain nodded, couldn’t force any parting words past his lips, so he glanced at Ethan one last time—pretty Ethan, sweet and clever, but not for Cain in the end—and strolled back across the plaza with his arm around Keeler’s shoulder and Keeler’s around his waist. 

\-- 

Better than he had expected, worse than he had hoped, but Cain was glad.  Glad to know he could do without Ethan, glad Keeler was with him, glad they had made the trip together. 

“Okay?” Keeler mumbled, leaning against him, drained from the moment they had taken their seats, barely audible over the whirr of the train on its tracks. 

“Think so.  Feel different,” Cain decided.  He leaned against the window, pulled Keeler up against him to let him sleep if he wished, close and warm. 

“Me too.”  And Keeler fell silent, pensive, just as he’d been on their slow walk back to the Central Terminal.

The bare red soil between the colonies flashed by, distorted through the thick, clear dome covering the train tracks.  The tracks for Colony Four suddenly split and veered away, perpendicular to Cain, darting off to the distant city.  He wondered what it was like, and if Keeler had a guidebook for that colony too. 

“What did you and Jack talk about?” he asked when the silence stretched too long between them. 

Keeler did not reply, and Cain looked down to check if he’d fallen asleep after all.  But Keeler’s brows were drawn together thoughtfully, and after a moment he replied, “Everything important.  And he accepted my apology.  Said it wouldn’t be fair to leave it hanging.  I’m—I’ll be okay too.” 

Cain huffed a soft laugh.  “Bet Ethan asked him to say that.” 

“I don’t know,” Keeler sighed.  “If he did, it’s probably the closest I’ll come to getting Ethan to accept my apology himself.”  He readjusted himself on top of Cain.  “Move your fucking elbow.  It’s poking my spleen or something.” 

“That’s not where your spleen is,” Cain informed him, but he shifted obligingly, since Keeler hadn’t sounded nasty.  When Keeler leaned against him more comfortably, he gathered his courage for the last time that day to ask, very quietly so no one else around them would hear, “So.  You wanna keep fucking and stuff?” 

Keeler looked up at him with a little grin, tired but pleased.  “Sure.  The ‘stuff’ part might be interesting.  Let’s see what happens.” 

Cain stroked his hair as Keeler settled his head.  He turned to the window to watch the sun sink below the red mountains, and for the first time let himself wholeheartedly consider something new. 

The end. Except for the dinosaur rampage and aftermath.


	13. Special Alternate Endings

**Special Alternate Ending:  Why Can't We All Be Friends?  
**

_June 4_

Juniper the _Tyrannosaurus rex_ stretched his stubby little arms and blinked at the cheerful sunlight streaming through his bedroom window at the Federated Alliance Dinosaur Research Facility.  He had woken up early, and to such a beautiful morning!  He could hear the sweet chirps of songbirds and the mellow honking of a flock of feral dodos outside.  He hoped his caretakers planned to take him outside for a walk on such a lovely day. 

He ruffled his feathers out and preened them just so before sniffing around for breakfast.  Usually there was an aurochs or something left with a decorative arrangement of ferns in his feeding area, but this morning breakfast was late.  Juniper pressed his eye to the window set in the door, trying to see if his caretakers were nearby. 

“Hey, guys,” he roared quietly.  “Good morning!  Anyone there?” 

No!  No one was there, but the massive door swung open at the touch of his itty-bitty arms.  “Whoa!” he thundered, whisper-quiet.  “Guys, you left the door unlocked!  Guys?” 

He lumbered out of his pen and into the cavernous hangar.  Most of his dinosaur friends continued to sleep in their pens, and there was not a caretaker in sight.  “Well, I’ll just pop outside!” he roared, just to let anyone who was awake know.  The caretakers were probably on a quick coffee run.  He’d make a jog around the neighborhood and be back in no time, too. 

He tried to open the hangar door, but it ripped off its hinges.  “Oh!  That wasn’t attached very well!” he bellowed, and gently set the door against the side of the building where no one would trip over it. 

“Back in a half hour!” he announced, the air shaking with the thunder of his voice, and set off at a brisk jog towards the city. 

He had often looked at the city, Colony Three, from the hangar and wondered what it would be like to visit.  There were sure to be lots of nice people like his caretakers, and maybe some fresh aurochs to eat!  He’d make a few friends, grab a bite, and then circle back to the hangar. 

“Hey, neighbor, beautiful morning!” he roared, fluttering his little claws at passersby as he stampeded down the city street.  Everyone was so happy to see him, waving their arms and shouting in their tiny, squeaky little voices.  They were so cute!  He felt moved to introduce himself, even as he kept jogging.  “Hey, guys!  I’m Juniper, and I live just outside the city!  Want to be friends?  Isn’t this a nice morning?  Come run with me!” 

The wind felt very nice against his feathers, and the sunlight felt so warm, and the welcoming cheers of his new friends were very kind indeed.  The road wasn’t very good for jogging, though.  Juniper didn’t have good eyesight (an error in his revival from extinction), but he could feel numerous odd, squishy little bumps under his big feet.  It was a bit uncomfortable, yes, but rather than complaining, he focused on finishing his jog and calling out greetings to all his new friends. 

\-- 

Keeler and Cain screamed, running helter-skelter back towards the train terminal.  Around them the citizens of Colony Three were caught up in sheer panic, screaming, “ _Tyrannosaurus rex_ attack!  Run!  Run!” and most people _were_ running, but in circles. 

The _T. rex_ roared, its feathers fanning out in a frightening array, its little arms with their sharp talons wind-milling, its deadly feet crushing many a colonist in its path.  People ran screaming in every direction, dodging the dinosaur’s feet and its swinging tail.  Huge chunks of masonry toppled to the ground, knocked free by the _T. rex_ ’s tail as it whipped around corners, up and down avenues. 

Keeler shrieked as Cain pulled him sharply to the side, narrowly escaping a falling section of concrete from the buildings shuddering around them.  “Come on!” Cain shouted.  “We have to get back to the train station—” 

Then the _T. rex_ squashed them, quite by accident.  Oops! 

\-- 

Ethan and Jack ran back to their apartment as quickly as they could.  The _T. rex_ had gobbled up Holly and a dozen other dodos at the dodo park, and squished many of the owners.  The ground shook under their feet, tripping them as they struggled up the road. 

“It’s following us!” screamed Jack.  “Quick, we have to get inside, off the main road!” 

“Jack, over here!” Ethan pulled him into a coffee shop and up the stairs in the back, where they found a bikram yoga class huddled on the far side of the building. 

“We’ll be safe here!” Jack declared, before the _T. rex_ ’s tail hit the building and destroyed it.  But the _T. rex_ didn’t mean to! 

\-- 

Juniper finished his very nice jog around downtown Colony Three and its adorable little suburbs.  He had made so many friends!  The dodos had been a nice appetizer, with such an interesting, piquant flavor.  The savory richness of his breakfast aurochs would complement the dodos perfectly. 

He cast a fond glance back at Colony Three as he walked back to the hangar.  The skyline looked a little different—flatter, perhaps?—now that he was moving farther away from it again.  He’d be sure to make another visit sometime soon to say hi to all his new friends.  Maybe Banana the _Carcharodontosaurus_ would like to come along.  Banana was a clever conversationalist, and so cute, and she would be a fun jogging partner.  Maybe they could make this morning constitutional a regular date! 

Ah, life was good. 

The end.

* * *

**Alternate Ending to the Alternate Ending:  Love Conquers All**

_June 5_

Cain woke up in the hospital with a crazy-ass headache.  Keeler was in bed next to him—not the bed next to him, but _in his bed_ next to him, and Ethan and Jack sat next to him on the other side.  It was a very crowded hospital bed.  Intimately crowded, even.  

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Cain said cheerfully, his headache dissipating.  He was surrounded by hot guys in hospital gowns, and he wasn’t going to question that (for four people in one hospital bed did beg for questioning, from the perspective of ‘is that physically possible?’). 

“Yes, it is cozy, isn’t it!” chirped a healthcare professional, who wheeled a tray piled high with hospital food to their bed.  “The dinosaur attack injured so many people that we’re quite overwhelmed.  Four to a bed, maybe even five!” 

“We’re okay with four,” Ethan told her.  “Specifically, these four.” 

“We’ll see,” laughed the healthcare professional before leaving to tend another bed’s occupants. 

Cain picked out some chocolate pudding from the meals assembled on their tray and tried to decide whether to leer at Keeler or Ethan first.  Keeler looked a little worse for the wear, having been stepped on by a rampaging dinosaur, but he was still smokin’ hot, as it is said, and Ethan also looked pretty good in black and blue.  Perhaps he would lick the chocolate pudding off of both of them.  And if Jack was interested in licking it off of _Cain_ , he would not object. 

But Jack had found a tub of strawberry pink gelatin and opened it as he gave Ethan a sultry stare.  “Know what I’d like?  Like to lick this jello off your chest, sugarplum.” 

“Oh, Jack, you’re so manly,” simpered Ethan. 

“I’d like to lick this chocolate pudding off your cock,” Cain blurted, and when Jack and Ethan _and_ Keeler all turned to look at him with very odd expressions, he quickly added, “Uh, Keeler.  I’d like to lick…yeah.” 

Keeler seemed gratified, but Ethan hissed at Jack, “How come _he_ gets a blow job and _I_ get jello on my pecs?” 

“I can suck off you too,” Cain exclaimed before thinking, again.  “Uh, Keeler.  No, Jack, I mean.  I mean Ethan.  Everyone.” 

“He’s really good at it,” Ethan stage-whispered to Jack, who replied, “Eric, could you, uh, pull the privacy curtain closed?” 

Just as they finished discussing logistics (and it seemed that Cain would end up right where he preferred to be, in the middle, covered by hot guys and hospital pudding), the healthcare professional yanked open their curtain and shooed another patient out of a wheelchair and into bed with them. 

“Now it’s _really_ cozy,” she said with a jocular grin.  “I’ll be back with another meal.  Eat up!” 

Bering adjusted himself in the very middle of the bed, between Cain and Ethan, and smiled pleasantly at the bed’s speechless occupants.  “If you would be so kind as to move your butt from the blanket—ah, thank you.  Ooh.  Watch out, got sprained everything courtesy of a dinosaur attack, hohoho.  So, how are you boys doing?” 

“Horrible,” Cain and Ethan chorused. 

“Could you hand me that chocolate pudding?  Mm, looks delicious, doesn’t it.  Goodness, I can’t hold the spoon properly with my sprained wrist.  Cain, perhaps you could help your former commander out and hold the spoon—and Abel, you could hold the pudding cup.  There.  Thank you.” 

Jack and Keeler watched Ethan and Cain, both of whom were on the verge of tears, help Bering eat the pudding that Cain had intended for Keeler’s (and everyone else’s?) pleasure.  Jack caught Keeler’s eye.  “Gosh, I need to visit the restroom, but my leg is a little broken, sort of…Eric, could you, um, help me out?” 

“Yeah, sure, that healthcare professional looks busy,” Keeler agreed quickly, and they made their escape.  Ethan and Cain glared murderously after them. 

They did not emerge from the bathroom for nearly forty-five minutes, and they emerged quite pleased with themselves.  Ethan made Jack promise that _he_ would get to help Jack ‘visit the restroom’ next.  Cain promptly volunteered for the opportunity after. 

They were all very happy to be discharged the next day. 

The end (no, really, I mean it).


End file.
